Judas Priests
by Hamilcar
Summary: Pietro completes his mission, but not before wreaking a little havoc. Maxwell's dreams begin to disturb him. And Kurt follows Pietro down the path of selfimprovement while Wanda hesitates about which path to walk at all. AU, Hellsing and Marvel.
1. Devil's Child

I make no claims to own any of the characters contained within, save for incidental orphans who show up now and again.

* * *

Anderson had not really wanted to leave the orphanage; the offer wasn't very enticing. Go, they had told him, for a village is raising a ruckus and the local priest certainly does not know how to handle it. Beyond his scope, they told Anderson. Though they didn't want to make any undue assumptions, it was quite possibly that the locals were right and that the carnival passing through was actually harboring a demon.

Never mind the pressing questions of how the circus handlers were restraining it. Never mind the fact that Anderson's area of specialty was vampires. Never mind the fact that there were orphans to attend to.

The danger, they said, was disproportionate to anyone else since not even a normal exorcism would work if it turned out they were right.

So they'd sent him.

When he finally slogged his way from the road, through the field where the circus was set up to the tents, he was already in a bad humor. Rain was pouring and filling the ruts of the tire track with mud and his boots were sinking into the muck. An official was waiting for him there, looking nervously through the downpour.

"Where?" Anderson growled.

"Through there. The red cart."

He didn't even bother to look at the man as he made his way through to the garishly decorated vehicle. A faint murmuring seemed to come from inside and he slid out two bayonets, gripping them and walking up quietly. It wouldn't do to be taken aback, but he wanted to examine the situation more closely first. The circumstances weren't nearly as clear as he wished they were and he knew that, particularly with carnival folk, people sometimes got suspicious – overly so – and called in for things that weren't at all a concern.

Whatever they'd done to convince Section XIII, though… the phrase 'it's blue' had come up and that was about all he knew.

The paladin was almost to the point where he could see through the opening. He looked up at the wall in front of him and saw a thoroughly soaked poster depicting a creature which certainly looked demonic enough. 'The Mystifying Nightcrawler' it read, with a crude painting of a dark creature with claws, a pointed tail and devil red eyes. A nod, and then he flattened himself against the cart, edging closer to the bars and listening.

"… now and at the hour of our death, Amen. Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou amongst women…"

The Hail Mary? In German? Suddenly, the prospect of the creature being a demon seemed much less likely. Hardly likely at all. Demonkind did not invoke the Blessed Virgin if they thought they were about to die. Of course, if it was in German, particularly with the beings thick accent, it was possible that nobody in the town would realize what the creature was saying. Carefully, he walked in front of the bars and peeked in.

In the far corner, a shape crouched, clutching something and muttering.

"… fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen."

Once he was finished with the prayer Anderson cleared his throat. The creature looked up, a vision of what the demonic might be, but Anderson sensed nothing out of the ordinary and so did not react when the creature surmised him.

"Father!" He gave him a rueful smile. "I am afraid I have caused much distress, some by appearing more by trying to explain. I have heard that some are demanding my execution. Have you come to give me Last Rites?"

"Nay," he said, wondering. The face was young, and for all the pigment, mostly human. "How old are yeh, lad?"

The creature shrugged.

"I am not certain. Perhaps fifteen?"

A closer examination showed Anderson that there was, in fact, a rosary in the creature's hands. And fifteen – still a child. Older, but a child. Still, such a revelation raised more questions than it answered.

"Fifteen. And wha' is yer name?"

"Kurt, father. They call me 'Nightcrawler' here, though. I can't say I much care for it."

"Kurt?" He smiled. "'Tis a fine name. Do yeh mind if ah come in?"

"No the door is – "

He pointed towards an entrance at the end of the cart, but Anderson merely sliced the bars off with his bayonets. He never did like cages; he hated them when they held children. His boots oozed onto the wooden floor and, bending over, he lumbered to where the boy was and sat beside him.

"Wha' mysteries are ye on?"

"The Sorrowful, father," he said with a smile. "If I consider prayerfully the suffering of others, then my own tribulations do not seem so bad."

He nodded.

"Ah see. An' how do yeh account for yer appearance?"

He looked down.

"I am sorry, father. I fear zat my mother or father must 'ave done something truly terrible. I have been like zis since I can remember."

"And you?"

"My faith gives me hope that I shall be forgiven of my sins and theirs shall not be held against me." He kissed the cross on the rosary. "I hold hope zat I shall be loved as all of the Lord's children are loved and if I keep His commands shall one day, through His mercy, see His glory."

For the first time, Anderson felt himself truly relax. The boy was no demon; he was a child, and if his comments were anything to go by, the picture of devotion. Of course, the devil was a skilled liar and deceiver. But had he not kissed the holy cross? Had not utterances to Mary crossed his lips?

He supposed, though, that he ought to be positive, for the sake of thoroughness.

"May ah give yeh a blessin'?"

"Would you please father?"

He smiled as Anderson withdrew a phial of oil, uncorked it and put a little on his thumb then crossed Kurt's forehead. A silent moment passed between them before their eyes met again.

"Father?" He asked quietly. "They called me 'demon.' _Are _they going to kill me?"

Anderson regarded the blue child with his green eyes for what seemed to Kurt an eternity. He disappeared for a moment, into a moment in the past where a boy who could no longer be hurt was slandered with tongues instead of fists or blades. You didn't know why it happened or how it manifested. It came upon you without warning and there it was.

"No, lad. Yeh can come wit' me. I assume yer parents are gone…?" Kurt nodded. "Then yeh shall join me at the orphanage."

He grinned but then his face fell just ask quickly.

"But what of the circus managers?"

Father Anderson smiled again, but different this time. Broader, with more incisor showing. Kurt nearly shivered.

"It will nay be a problem. Come."

BAMF.

For a second, Anderson fell back, startled. There was a puff of smoke and a smell of sulfur, which cause him to cough.

"I've been vaiting to do that," Kurt said with a smile. "But I didn't dare risk my place, my safety."

Anderson stood and followed him out.

"Ye are blessed, child. And God will watch over yeh."

He gave him his cassock to keep the rain off and merely told the waiting man that the problem was taken care of. Kurt was hustled into the car and as they drove back to Rome and the orphanage, Anderson noticed something in the light which he had not seen in the dark cart.

"Those scars…"

"One for every sin," he said resolutely.

The priest nearly laughed; such a child! They were going to get along fine.

* * *

* * *

My first foray into Hellsing fic and it is indeed an X-Men crossover, with a slight focus on the movie elements. Movie!Nightcrawler was too devoted to avoid the tempation to write something like this. There will be more X-Men elements, some based off of 1602 (though not a direct AU from that work and vast knowledge of Marvel is not needed - just familiarity).

Reviews and suggestions are much appreciated!


	2. Prelude

Thanks to all who reviewed – I was worried that the crossover might be a bit 'weird' but it seems to be rather well received. On a story note, I've altered some events a bit but hopefully it shouldn't be too much of a problem.

Also, there's been a time jump of about a year.

* * *

It was midnight at the orphanage and if the weather had been cooperating with the mood, it would have been raining in true melodramatic fashion. Fortunately for the woman making her way towards the building, the sky was clear and there was enough moonlight to guide her way. She stumbled as fast as she could, fatigued though she was, and continually peeked over her shoulder. She was so sure that she had escaped; but with her husband, changed as he was, she might never be truly sure. 

She had meant to go farther west, and perhaps it had been a mistake not to stay at that strange mountainThe place had disturbed her, however, and she had moved on, near though she was to delivery. Now, however, she could come no further and she was told that she might find shelter here. The priest who ran the place was apparently looked upon very favorably and would likely give her shelter. She stopped for a moment, aching, and looked at the moon.

'_At least, if not for me, then for my child.' _

When she reached the door, she knocked tentatively. Anderson, busy at the sink cleaning up the remains of the night's dinner, heard the knock and opened the door to find a heavily pregnant brunette standing on his doorstep. He regarded her carefully but kindly.

"How may Ah help ye, child?"

"I need – " Suddenly, her face twisted and she grasped at her bulging abdomen. Father Anderson did not wait for her to say anything else. He carefully helped her inside and sat her down, ignoring the mess caused by the amniotic sac rupturing. Her face was a tangle of pain as he turned from her and ran up the stairs.

"Kurt!" He called, pounding on the door.

Inside, the boy rubbed his eyes, hearing the urgency in the priest's voice. He bamfed outside of his door as soon as he could.

"Vat is it, Father?"

"Get towels and sheets and put them in your room. Come downstairs quickly. You must help me."

He nodded and did as Anderson had requested. When he came to the kitchen he found the woman groaning and Anderson holding her hand, trying to coach her through the process. Kurt nearly blushed, though one could not tell by looking at his skin, as he realized what was about to happen. Anderson fixed his green eyes upon the blue teenager.

"She needs tah be upstairs, in a bed," he said quietly. "Can you do it – safely? Without harm to her or the child?"

He bit his lip, considering, and then nodded. Carefully he reached out and touched the woman and took them to the first bed he could think of, his own. Her pain-hazed eyes looked up at him and she wondered what sort of dream she was in, so many strange things occurring around her. Perhaps the delivery at Wundagore would have been no stranger, but it was too late for that now. In a rush that smelt of sulfur, she found herself deposited in a bed with the strange looking creature next to her.

Anderson opened the door with a nudge of his should, then set down the water he was carrying and nodded to Kurt.

"Dinnae come unless I call you."

Kurt stood outside of his room, tired but with all thought of sleep banished for the night. Past midnight and into the early hours Anderson worked as the other residents of the house slept. It was an eternity, or so it seemed, before he opened to door to Kurt who was pacing almost as nervously as though he'd been the father. He looked up at Anderson, but the sight of the priest's face made his heart sink.

"The woman?" He asked, frightened.

"Did nae make it," he sighed. "I thought she was gonna, despite her exhaustion – but she took a turn for the worst near the end." Seeing the distress on the boy's face, he reached out to him with a comforting hand on his shoulder. "There was nothing neither you nor Ah coulda done."

"And ze child?" His voiced trembled as he asked.

"Children," Anderson corrected. "A boy and ah wee lass. Both alive and well – sleeping."

Birth and death, neither of which the boy had truly been close to before, had touched him in a single night and it was plain to see that he was troubled. He fought his shock and despair at what had just transpired, however, and managed a small smile.

"Might I see zem?"

The priest nodded and allowed him into the room. The body of the woman was covered by a white sheet and he avoided the sight of it. Instead, he peered inside a chest which had been lined with sheets where the two were rested.

"Twins," he breathed.

"Aye. The one with the dark hair is the girl and the light blond the boy."

He reached his three-digited hand out to stroke their heads.

"Did she name them?"

A nod. "Pietro and Wanda."

"Pietro," he said with a smile. "Peter. A good strong name." Then another pained expression crossed his face. "Will we bury her out back?"

Anderson paused then nodded.

"Yes – but outside tha gate. She was nae baptized. Gypsy pagan by what I gathered and we cannae bury her on consecrated ground. But just outside the boundary ought to be alright. After all, we cannae let the body being tae rot in th' aer."

"And ze children?" He asked once again.

"Will be Christened with the names she gave them."

There was a final nod and Kurt slumped against a wall. Father Anderson, seeing how stressful the night had been for him, carried the boy to his own bed. He then stood and went to bury the dead; it would not do to have the children see her and get a fright. He deposited her children in a nursery where they placed abandoned babies then took her out wrapped in a white sheet. She was buried in a simple wooden coffin.

As he filled in the dirt, Anderson crossed himself.

"May the Lord have mercy on your heathen soul," he whispered then headed back inside.

He contented himself to sleep in a loveseat in one of the many downstairs rooms. He slept dreamlessly; yet not so with all in the house.

One small boy, not even a day old, dreamt of a sensation he had only instinct to know of and no ability to name.

The sense of running, running fast, faster than anything.

It was as if he were speed itself.

* * *

And that does it for Marvel characters for now. No more non-Hellsing introductions for a while. Instead there will be more on those already present. 


	3. Victims of Changes

Here we skip a little over a decade.

* * *

* * *

"Do you think the Marcus Brothers were Catholic?"

A boy pressed the 'back' skip button on the DVD remote he was holding to replay the chapter he'd just watched.

"Do I think the _who_ were Catholic?" Asked a female voice. The girl who spoke didn't look up from the homework she was doing.

"The Marcus Brothers!" The boy sighed in an exasperated tone. "Don't you pay any attention at all, Wanda?"

"Yes. To the things that need attention to be paid." She stood and walked over to the television, turning it off.

"Hey!" He shouted indignantly. "I was watching that!"

"Homework first, Pietro. Then you can watch that vampire slayer killer thing."

"Vampire Hunter D," he corrected her scornfully, pulling out the chair to his desk.

"As for the Marcus Brothers – they're fictional. You'd do better to focus on math and less on silly fantasies."

"It's not a silly fantasy!" The silver-blond shot back. "It's real. Even Father Anderson says so!"

The brunette rolled her eyes.

"Oh really? Father Anderson told you that vampires exist and that hunters have to go around killing them?"

"Well, not exactly…"

"See, then? Not real."

"Nuh-uhn!" He smiled superiorly at her. "I heard him telling Deacon Kurt one night that vampires were dangerous and that a hunter's life was not one for a young man."

"So what are you suggesting?" She laughed. "That Father Anderson is a vampire hunter in his spare time or something? I hardly think so."

Realizing she wasn't going to believe him no matter what he told her, Pietro turned sullenly and faced his books.

"Not like he doesn't disappear mysteriously every now and then," he muttered under his breath.

His sister, however, still managed to overhear.

"Pietro, you act like the orphans are his only duty. He does have other functions as a priest, you know, not to mention orphanage business that can't be taken care of here or even in Rome. I don't see why you think it's all so suspicious."

He sighed.

"It would just be cool if he was, is all," he said, hunching his shoulders and letting the matter drop for the moment.

* * *

* * *

In his office upstairs, Paladin Alexander Anderson was having a discussion that was just as heated with one of his superiors.

"Ye cannae make tha suggestion tae heem!" he protested.

"Anderson," Enrico Maxwell continued, "Do see sense. He idolizes the profession and would follow you into it most willingly – "

"Only because ye suggested it!" Anderson burst in.

"And," he continued obstinately, "He would be of a great deal of use if his abilities are anything like what Father Renaldo represented them to be. Besides which, Anderson, be realistic. His appearance would never be accepted in any parish."

"Th' orphans accept him," Alexander muttered sullenly.

"Only because of your influence. You cannot expect the world at large to be so forgiving or accepting. If you force him out into a public priesthood he will meet with nothing but derision. Allow him to join the ranks of Section XIII and he will be an invaluable asset to the Church and ourselves. Perhaps even to you," he said with a smile. "Kurt is certainly cooperative enough with you and a partnership could benefit you both."

"Ye will nae tempt me wit' such ae suggestion," he rumbled.

"Why not simply make it his choice?"

"Because he's nobbut a youngin'! He does nae know wha' he's choosin'!"

Fr. Maxwell narrowed his eyes.

"Very well then. So this is your assessment of the matter. I am sorry to do this to you, Alexander; I know how protective you are of all your orphans. But the boy's talents and the situation cannot be overlooked. He will come with us; this is an order I give, as the head of Section XIII." His lips quirked into a smile. "In fact, perhaps I should be the one to ordain him; and as he is twenty-five we need not even wait."

Anderson ground his teeth. _Damn it, Renaldo, why did you say anything?_ He hadn't even realized that Fr. Renaldo, upon coming for a visit, had seen Kurt transport. Kurt thought they'd been alone and hadn't thought anything of it, but Renaldo had apparently returned with a report of Kurt's powers to Maxwell.

"Just like Heinkle and Yumi…" He sighed as Maxwell turned away from him.

"If I'm not mistaken," he retorted icily, "They were willing as well."

* * *

* * *

"Done!" Pietro crowed triumphantly.

His sister turned in her chair, disbelieving.

"Pietro, you can't be done with all of that. It's only been fifteen minutes."

"See for yourself," he said smugly, holding the completed worksheets out to her.

As she looked over them, he walked over to the DVD player and popped in a difference disc.

"And now, time for 'Once More with Feeling.'"

"You've watched that episode seven times this week already!" She protested, slamming the worksheets down. "I'm tired of it!"

"Don't you have homework to do?" He grinned as the menu came up.

"Jerk!" She glared at the television and the picture winked out with a spark.

He glared at her and tried to turn the television on with no success.

"Thanks a lot," he snapped. "And you can tell Father Anderson about it."

Flopping down on the bed, he soon lost himself in a Castlevania game on his Nintendo handheld; he would have read, but the newest Anita Blake was not yet translated for the Italian market. Wanda looked at him and frowned; sometimes she wished that Father had never read them _Dracula_ as children; it had captivated Pietro's imagination all too thoroughly. She was worried about more than that however. Lately, Pietro had been doing things quickly. Well, more quickly than usual, for he always did things quickly. When he ran he seemed to get to his destination, whether it was down the stairs or across the room, almost instantaneously. And he was completing tasks – even completing them well – at a rather unsettling rate.

There was also the matter of herself. Having no other word to describe it, _things_ seemed to happen when she was around, particularly if she was agitated. Electronics malfunctioned, people tripped, glasses shattered. So far there were always other explanations to be provided and she had escaped scrutiny or reprimand. Soon, however, she felt certain that she would cause an incident to large to be ignored. Pietro barely noticed both these developments; or at least he worried himself little over the reasons and repercussions.

Rising from her homework, she left the bedroom unheeded by her brother and went up stairs to seek Father Anderson. She found him sitting at his desk, silent, his head in his hands.

"Father?" She asked uncertainly. "Is something the matter?"

He looked up at her and force a smile.

"'Tis nae you must trouble yerself wit', lass. Wha' did ye want teh talk about?"

The pre-teen bit her lip and looked at the floor.

"Father. Father… Father."

"Yes?" He asked gently.

"Father," she said, looking up at him with slightly misty eyes, "I think Pietro and I are _strange_."

* * *

* * *

And that will wrap it up for now. :) More of Kurt the next chapter as the plot finally starts to pick up and get underway!


	4. Subterfuge

Behold! 'Tis a new chapter. :) Story is also now with 100 percent more chapter titles and a cookie to anyone who spots the pattern.

000

Pietro quickly tired of the game; reading a book was better since he could flip the page as soon as he'd read it. Video games, however, could only react as quickly as they were animated to move. Whatever pace the character ran at was the pace he was forced to follow, and it was beginning to wear on Pietro's nerves. With no new books to read and the television broken thanks to Wanda, he decided to go outside.

000

Father Enrico Maxwell had just stepped outside of the building and was heading towards his car when suddenly he heard a pounding noise behind him. Turning around, he saw a boy at the basketball hoop set up on the side of the house. Strange. He hadn't been there a moment before and it seemed as though he would have noticed him come out; it was a lengthy distance between the side door and the hoop.

More than that, he seemed to be moving at a strangely quick pace whenever he went to catch the ball after it went through the netting. Stepping back, Enrico regarded him for a moment. Then he fixed a smile on his face and walked over to the boy. Pietro remained oblivious and continued shooting baskets, moving faster than he realized.

"Hello," Enrico said, out of the blue. Pietro dropped the ball, startled.

"Hello, Father," he said, giving the priest a respectful nod.

"It looks as though you're having a lot of fun there," Enrico continued.

He shrugged. "I guess. Was there something you needed, Father?" He asked, anxious. Usually the only time a priest other than Father Anderson ever talked to him, it was because he was in some sort of trouble; in fact, it was why Father Anderson talked to him much of the time as well.

"Oh, nothing in particular. I was just wondering how you liked it here, how you are being treated."

Pietro bit his lip. Was the priest upset with Father Anderson about something? He couldn't see what; he did get punished, but even he had to admit that it was fair every time.

"Good, I guess. No complaints." He forced himself to walk slowly over to the orange ball and pick it up.

"Do tell me, what is your name?" Enrico inquired in a pleasant tone, hoping the boy would open up a little more to him. The child might be worth looking into as well, assuming his eyes hadn't been deceiving him when noticing the child's speed.

"Pietro, Father," he said and then took a shot.

"I see that you like basketball. What else do you like?"

"Lots of stuff… books, video games, TV…"

"Anything in particular that you like most?"

Having been frustrated by Wanda's unsympathetic attitude towards his dominating passion, Pietro seized the opportunity for open conversation to discourse on his favorite subject.

"Yeah! I love vampire stuff. Castlevania, novels, Vampire Hunter D, all that kinda stuff!" He grinned. "My sister says it isn't real, and that I'm being stupid, but I think there really are vampires. Father Anderson said so."

"Did he now?" The tone Enrico said this last comment in made Pietro quail. Had he said something wrong? Would he get into trouble for it? Would Father Anderson?

"Well… I kinda wasn't supposed to hear that part, I don't think," he said quietly. "And I was up late. I mean, maybe I misheard or misunderstood. That's what Wanda tells me. So there probably aren't vampires. I mean, Father Anderson doesn't lie so I'm probably mistaken." He didn't really think he was, but this priest didn't seem like the sort one wanted to have as an enemy.

"And what do you think of vampires?" His voice returned to the mildly inquisitive, inviting tone it had before.

"It'd be totally sweet to going around being a vampire hunter, stabbing them in the chest, ripping their throats out, things like that," Pietro answered with a grin. "Not like they wouldn't deserve it. And it'd be pretty badass to get to take them out with big guns and stuff Get to see the demons splatter."

For a moment, Enrico stood breathless. There had been a flash in the boy's eyes that he hadn't even seen in Anderson's until he'd hunted for sometime. Something lurked behind that childlike façade, something that reveled in destruction and rejoiced in devastation. Depending on how deep those feelings truly ran, he might make a very good servant indeed.

First, however, there was more than Enrico needed to know. Much more.

"I apologize," he said suddenly. "I have been remiss in failing to return your courtesy by telling you my name. I am Father Enrico Maxwell." He made a gesture. "I think I should like to get to know you, Pietro. You seem like a very enthusiastic young boy. Care to take a walk with me?"

Even if he didn't care to, Pietro would not have refused. So he left the basketball and began to stroll with the priest.

"Tell me child, what do you feel about your faith?"

Pietro was slightly surprised and taken aback. The answer to him was obvious.

"I love God and his Church, Father. I know maybe it doesn't always seem like it, but I try to follow the Commandments, I really do. It sometimes seems like I can't help breaking them. But I try. And I go to Mass and everything."

Enrico nodded; all was good thus far. Faithful yet willing to sin.

"And your desire to destroy something as possibly fictional as vampires – where does that come from?"

The phrase 'possibly fictional' puzzled him, but he didn't protest it.

"Stuff like that, like what they are, it's against all we stand for, it's vile and disgusting." He smiled. "Almost as bad as heathens," he said with a laugh. "But nowadays we're supposed to make nice. I think it's stupid, but whatever. Sometimes I wish it was like in old times. Crusading and stuff. It'd be kinda cool."

It was a struggle for Enrico to keep from laughing himself. He only had to ask the boy one final question, one more piece of information that he needed to know to be positive of the boy's potential.

"Pietro," he said then paused before continuing. "What do you think of Judas Iscariot?"

The boy stopped in his tracks and bit his lip. He'd gotten in trouble with some of the nuns at his school before over this.

"Well…"

"Say whatever you feel in your heart," Enrico urged. "And remember that it is a lie to sin."

"I think he… well… you know. Somebody had to do it, didn't they?" He said almost defensively. "I mean, somebody had to be the bad guy. The traitor. And in the end, it all turned out good, didn't it? I mean, I know he went to Hell and all. But by going there, he helped a lot of other people out. He made things the way they were supposed to be by doing it. It was like… like…" he fumbled for words. "Like he had to be bad to do what was right. And he got punished, yeah, but he did the dirty work that nobody else would do. It damned him; but it saved us, created our faith.

He did the right thing, I think." He scuffed the dirt with his foot. "Some of the sisters don't think so, though. I got in trouble at school for saying that. Father Anderson didn't say anything when they told him, didn't even punish me, but I got yelled at by the nuns. Well, for that and for causes a small fire on the bulletin board but that wasn't really, _really_ my fault. Are you going to punish me?" He abruptly shut up, his speech having accelerated as he grew increasingly nervous.

Placing a hand on the boy's shoulders, Enrico smiled.

"No, I will not. Pietro – I think you and I ought to have more conversations like these. You're very insightful for a boy your age."

And absolutely perfect for Section XIII, he thought to himself.

"Ok," Pietro agreed as they walked back.

"Although – not that I want you to be dishonest – but I think it would be best if you didn't mention this conversation to Father Anderson. I don't interact with many of the orphans you see, so I think this should be our little secret. Just so nobody gets the wrong idea. Agreed?"

Pietro nodded.

"Sure! Our secret," he said. "Just between us."

000

She hadn't meant to, but Wanda started to cry, thinking about all the ways that Father Anderson might react if she explained. What if he threw them out? Where would they go? Who would want a couple of troublemakers?

"Strange like… Like I keep making stuff break!" She sniffed and took a breath to calm herself down. "Pietro keeps moving faster and faster, getting stuff done and running quicker than he should. But when I get upset or annoyed or mad, stuff breaks. I broke the TV in our room," she admitted, "And there's been other stuff too. Glasses shattering, people slipping…

"I don't mean for it to happen – it just does!" She wailed.

Without saying a word, Father Anderson embraced her and patted her hair.

"Shhhhh. Shhhhh. 'Tis noothin' tae meh, lass. Ahn 'tis noothin' tae beh ashamed oov. Yer jes' like Kurt," he said with a smiled. "Like Kurt and like me. Yeh've goot a gift from God; his blessin's are uhpoon yeh."

"Really?"

"Ye hae meh solemn word."

She wiped her eyes.

"Boot…" He began.

"Yes?" She asked with trepidation.

"Yeh cannae tell anyboodie aboot this, lass. Ahn the same fahr yer broother."

"I won't, Father Anderson," she whispered. "No telling anybody, and I'll try not to do anything in front of people either. Our secret."

"Aye. Oohr secret."

The girl dashed back to her room, considerably comforted. Anderson, however, was more agitated than ever. Maxwell already knew about Kurt; he didn't know how he was going to conceal two more from him and his influence. Bad enough that Kurt would probably enlist; he didn't want to see the twins condemn themselves to Hell as well.

000

Yeah, as for the Kurt bits... next chapter. Promise. I just got a lot of inspiration for this one and figured I'd wrap up some of those loose ends and set a few other wheels into motion first.

But next chapter shall be a Kurt-centric one for sure :)


	5. Night Crawler

The mild Italian wind ruffled Kurt's black, curly hair as he looked out over the streets of Vatican City. It was a site he enjoyed all the more when he considered how few ever got to see it from his particular angel. Ascending the dome of St. Peter's Basilica was no mean feat, but for him there was no better place to be alone and to think.

He didn't worry much about being spotted. His most distinguishing features, his glowing yellow eyes, were well-hidden by the special goggles he used; he could see out of them perfectly but nobody could see the eyes which lay beyond them. Apart from that, his clothing consisted of a simple dark black priest's outfit and his skin was dark blue, both lending him camouflage in the night. Again, a blessing in disguise; his skin tone made it easy to sneak around, easy to patrol the streets of the city he loved.

Kurt leaned back carefully and looked up at the stars. His back gave a twinge as he did and he guessed that it was probably bleeding. The incision he'd made hadn't quite healed yet. The brief burst of pain made him think of why he'd cut himself in the first place and he frowned. Although the blond priest had swallowed his objections, his emerald eyes had been terribly sad when Kurt told him of his final decision to join the Iscariot division. He knew, had known for a while, that it was not what Anderson had hoped or wished for him.

_Honor thy father and thy mother._ Despite the fact that he felt it was for a higher cause, Kurt had violated this time and time again to meet with Enrico and Renaldo, discussing what his place was to be in the secret sector. God had given him talents and he felt it was his duty to use them where they would be most beneficial. Even so, it hurt to see Father Anderson gaze at him with pity and despair, as if he were already dead and in the bowels of hell. Anderson was a part of Section XIII too, but it still felt like joining was betraying the only guarding who'd even loved him.

But after all, as Enrico had pointed out, wasn't betrayal of a certain fashion at the heart of Section XIII? You did what you had to do even if you faced recrimination because of it.

A shout from the streets below shattered his revere and made Kurt forget his pain momentarily. He looked down and saw a young nun being flanked by dark figures, clearly threatening her. He could hardly see them, but the way she was grabbed and jerked made their intent clear. His blood boiled; to have so little respect as to commit such crimes in the sight of the cathedral was unthinkable!

Without a second thought, he leaped from the cupola and bamf-ed down into the square below, still hiding in the shadows on the other side of the obelisk that was the piazza's focal point.

"Please, you can't do this, you don't understand!" He heard the nun shout as he caught sight of her, a young, modestly dressed girl, whose terrified eyes peered through large glasses. "You regret it!"

As they laughed at her a scent drifted a across their nostrils and one of them looked at his companions.

"Do you smell sulfur?"

Suddenly, the five men were beset on all sides by a whirlwind of punched. Kurt had always been acrobatic and realized at once that these were nothing but thugs, slightly drunken, clumsy and common. He flung one of them aside with his tail and the others soon focused on him as the timid nun shrank into the shadows then dashed into the protection of the colonnades on the side.

One of the men landed a blow and Kurt tasted blood inside his mouth. He returned but began to realize that though they were taking the brunt of the attacks, he was tiring and their punches were landing with increasing frequency. Just as he was considering teleporting away before the incident grew worse, shots rang out from across the square and each man in turn fell dead to the ground.

For a moment, Kurt stood stunned, fearing that he was next. When no further shots came, however, he spun around; he was reluctant to give whoever had fired a clear view of him but he wanted to make sure that the nun was OK and that the shooter wasn't there to cause more trouble. Looking, he saw two figures making their way towards him, the nun plus another figure holding a firearm he couldn't identify. The second had light brown hair which was swaying in the wind and was dressed like a priest.

"A light if you vould," said the surprisingly feminine voice.

"I am sorry," he said when he finally found his voice. "I do not smoke… frauline?"

"Ja. Ah, vell," she sighed and rummaged in her pockets. "Yumiko?" The nun shook her head no. "Vell damn." She bent over the dead bodies while Kurt looked on, shocked. A smile told him that she'd found what she was looking for. Withdrawing a lighter from one of the corpses' pocket, she lit the cigarette in her mouth then inhaled. "Much better," she sighed.

The nun walked up to Kurt and took his hand, not reacting in the least to his appearance.

"Thank you very much for saving me."

"Bah!" The brunette took a drag. "You could haf done it yourself, if you veren't such a baby about Yumie."

The nun blushed and Kurt looked at them, feeling awkward, as though he were missing something. There was a strange sense of familiarity in their behavior and the nun's name which he couldn't quite place. The smoking one looked at him critically for a moment then nodded.

"A bit rough around the edges, but ve can make do. You vill learn in time."

"Learn? Learn what?" He asked, at a momentary loss. "Who are… Oh."

"Heinkel Wolfe," the one dressed as a priest introduced herself. "Und Yumiko 'Yumie' Takagi. Und you must be the new recruit – Kurt, correct?"

He nodded. "Ja, Kurt Vagner. So – you are the assassin and the berserker?"

"Indeed," she replied, flicking her ashes. "But come. Ve have stayed here too long. Let the police take care of this mess," she gestured to the bodies, "und you may come vith us. After all, you should get to know your future comrades in arms."

Surprised, he ran a hand through his hair and looked down nervously. Then he straightened up, smiled and allowed them to lead the way.

OOO

"Has Enrico told you much about me?" Kurt asked when they reached the quarters where Heinkel and Yumiko lived.

"The basics. Orphan, a performer until a teenager, lived in Ferdinant Lukes. He also described you to us; I had a feeling it vas you when I saw you – how do you say it?"

"Bamf?" Kurt offered.

"Ja. Vhen you bamfed. Vould you like something to drink?" She tossed her guns onto the couch and went into the kitchen as Yumiko settled herself on one chair and Kurt in another.

"Tea?" He called. "Green if you have it."

She re-emerged in a few moments, holding the hot cup of tea for Kurt and a spiked cup of coffee for herself.

"So, do you haf any questions?" Heinkel asked, blowing gently on her coffee as she leaned into the couch cushions.

Kurt wrapped his hands around the mug and looked down into the green tea. The hue made him think of his father's eyes and he recalled what he'd been brooding over before the distraction.

"About Father Anderson… He doesn't seem to agree vith my decision. It pains me to hurt him; and I don't want to seem ungrateful for all he has done for me.""

"He ist alvays like that. He vas upset when Yumiko und I first decided to join too. He vill be upset for a while but he'll get over it eventually. You might even be good for him, if I understand Enrico correctly."

"Oh? How so?" They hadn't discussed the specific details of what his assignment or place within Iscariot would be, other than the general idea that he would be a field agent.

"Anderson does not easily maintain control. You, however, haf the ability to quickly extract a body from a conflict vith your 'bamfing.' Unless I am mistaken, Enrico vants you vith Anderson to keep an eye on him und remove him from the situation if he does not back down."

"I see." He took a thoughtful sip. "Vhat does Father Anderson think of this?"

The two nuns exchanged glances.

"Well…" Yumiko hedged. "He doesn't exactly know, yet. Father Maxwell seems to feel that it would be best if you gained some independent field experience first so that Father Alex wouldn't be worrying about you all of the time when you went on missions together. Most of the missions we go on don't deal with supernatural threats like Father Alex handles so he's even uncomfortable with us helping him out despite our track record; I doubt he'd even consider letting an untried recruit to come along with him."

"That makes sense. Vill it take a long time to train before him ready?"

"You're already an accomplished acrobat and fencer, from what I read," said Heinkel, "So you vill probably go through an accelerated course dealing with the particulars of supernatural battle. I'm not positive, but it will probably take around six months to get you completely up to speed."

A momentary expression of surprise played across his face.

"Fencing is an acceptable form of field combat?"

"Yumie uses a katana," Heinkle informed him and gestured towards the nun who blushed. "I don't see vhy a rapier vould be any different."

It might have been slightly childish, but Kurt found a grin spreading across his face at the prospect of getting to use his fencing skills in real life, putting them towards an actual goal rather than simply being exercise. The conversation then fell into a momentary lull as they sat and drank for a moment, unsure of where to go from there. Eventually Yumiko piped up.

"Excuse me, Kurt; I don't mean to be rude. But I was wondering – what's it like? To be who you are, that is?"

He shrugged.

"Valking around in daylight like this isn't so bad. Most people are just curious. Of course, since I haven't been ordained yet, I haven't been walking around in a priest's outfit like this in broad daylight yet. I suspect people's reactions vill change when I do. And even now, though most people are nice, there are alvays a few who vill be insulting or even shout threats."

"Does it bother you a lot?"

"Niet. Is is much better than vhen I vas in the circus. And as I said, most are just curious. At least here and at Ferdinant Lukes."

"Speaking of vhich," said Heinkle, shifting forward a bit. "Vhen is your ordination going to be?"

"Maxwell vants it done as quickly as possible," he sighed. "But I vant to make sure that Father Anderson is there. Even if he doesn't approve of my joining Iscariot, I want him to see me made a priest. He vas the one who really started me on my journey, helped me to accept the call I heard. If he isn't present when I'm anointed it will feel… incomplete."

The two nodded in understanding.

"As soon as ve hear from him, a private ceremony will be scheduled."

"Vell, ordained or not, ve vill need your help in an upcoming mission." Heinkle went over to a nearby desk and took a folder out from one of its drawers, handing it to Kurt. "Inside you vill find all the details of the operation. To summarize, there is a man being help in an American prison who has expressed sentiments similar to those of Iscariot; he cannot abide or forgive those who vould do evil. He has even already had some training as priest, from when he vas younger. Also, he is a SEAL, highly skilled in combat. In short, ve vould like him to join us but must first arrange a prison break."

"And an agent for whom valls are no barrier vould be helpful?" He smiled.

"Most helpful," she said, returning the smile. "The actual mission won't be for several veeks, but ve vill keep in contact. The number for this apartment is written on the inside of the folder. Call if you need anything und leaf a message if ve aren't here."

Kurt closed the folder and nodded.

"Thank you. And now, I am afraid the hour is late and I should be getting back to my own place."

"Understood. It has been good to meet you, Kurt." Heikle told him, going over to shake his hand.

"Yes, very good!" Yumiko joined in, getting up and standing beside her.

Kurt took Henkle's hand but then, to her surprise, kissed the back of it and then did the same to Yumiko, giving them a rakish wink as he did.

"Guten nacht," he said then disappeared with a bamf.

The two stood frozen for a moment, staring at the puff of sulfur left in his wake, neither wanting to admit to the light blush that crossed their cheeks.

OOO

"KURT'S HERE!" A five year old shrieked and then ran down the hallway.

Kurt laughed to himself as he stood in the doorway of the orphanage. Soon he heard the footsteps of many small feet coming to greet him. He smiled most, however, when he heard the unmistakable lumbering footsteps of Ferdinant Luke's resident priest.

The children jumped him and Kurt did his best to give them each an affectionate squeeze, even letting his tail curl around one or two of them. They were laughing raucously as Anderson looked on in amusement.

"You're back!" "When'd you come?" "Want to see my new book?" "Can you bamf us Kurt?" "Play video games with us Kurt!" "Look! Haven't I gotten big since you were last here?" "Where have you been Kurt?" "Are you gonna be a priest like Father Anderson? The mother says you're going to be a priest!" "If Kurt's a priest, I wanna be a priest too!" "We got a new swing set too! You can push us!"

"Vhoa!" He cried out, laughing. "Not all at vonce!"

"Come, children," Father Anderson broke in. "Cannae Kurt git a moment o' peace?"

They let go of him but remained crowded around, looking expectantly.

"I need to talk vith Father Anderson now, but ve vill play after dinner, OK?" He assured them.

They nodded eagerly, then dashed off to see if they couldn't get the nuns in the kitchen to hurry dinner along. Once they were gone, the two stood still for a moment as an awkward silence passed between them. Then Kurt jumped and embraced Anderson, not unlike the orphans had done with him.

"Please, don't be mad at me Father. I don't vant you to be mad at me. I haven't heard from you yet about my ordination and I couldn't stand it if you veren't there. I am sorry I haf offended you…"

Anderson sighed and patted Kurt on the back.

"Nae. 'Tis I whit ought tae beh asking o' your forgiveness. Ae've been a fool tah git mad wit' ye aboot this, Kurt." He took a step back and looked the young man in the eye. "Did yeh scar yourself o'er this?"

Kurt's gaze shifted to the ground below him.

"I did you dishonor, Father."

Anderson frowned but said no more about it.

"Coom, let us git insaed."

"Father," he said, hesitating. "There is something else. I met vith two of the agents – Heinkel and Yumiko. Ve are… vell… I haf a job."

At this, the aged priest paled a little and grimaced slightly but said no more. He gestured for Kurt to come inside and started walking up to his office where they could talk undisturbed. He unlocked the door to his chambers and opened it wide. Once they were both inside, Anderson firmly shut the door and twisted the lock.

"Kurt…"

"I know, Father. I know you don't vant me to get hurt."

"Nae. 'Tis moor thon tha'. I know ye kin take care oor yerself Kurt. Tis yer soul Ah worry about."

Kurt stood quiet for a moment and when he gave his reply he found he was somewhat afraid to look Father Anderson in the eye and kept turning away to look out of the window or at the floor.

"Father, I vas given, as you have alvays told me, a gift. Vhat good is it if I do not use it? It vould be a sin of omission. My soul is very unworthy, despite my best attempts to follow our Lord. But this – this I can give back to Him who made me. I do not mean to hurt you, who took me in vhen I vas nothing more than a carnival freak. I see you care for those beneath you and vish I had your patience. But Father – vhat else can I do?"

"Anythin' buh this, Kurt! 'Tis tae bloody an' cruel for ye. An' like Ah said, we Iscariots, we face damnation! Yer toh good fer tha', lad."

"I am not afraid of the danger, Father, not when it is in the service of the Lord who has given me strength through all things. I vill stand for him." He walked over to Anderson and put his hand on the taller man's shoulder, facing him eye to eye at last, glowing yellow staring into flecked green. "And ist it not despair, to say that ve are assured a place in Hell? I vill do vhat is necessary for my Lord's church on earth and leave the rest for him to decide. I vill accept what must be, but I vill never doubt His gracious mercy."

For a moment, Anderson was silent, unable to respond. Then he smiled ruefully.

"I see tha' I cannae change yer mind, lad. Thon let it be as oor Lord wills. Amen!" He declared and they clasped hands, as teacher and student, as one priest to another, as one agent to another.

The moment passed and they started down to dinner so that Kurt could visit with the orphans. Anderson exited first then Kurt followed. As they made their way down the steps, neither turned around to notice the door briefly open and then shut again, as if it had been opened and closed in the space of a second. A breeze was felt in the hall, but none were there to feel it.

OOO

And thus we come to the end of another chapter.

From here on out, there will be no author notes at the beginning. At the end, there will be a feature called Crossover Connection (CC) that explains some aspect of the Marvel part of the crossover particularly relevant. So, for this chapter…

CC: Nightcrawler's practice of scarification originates from the Alan Cumming character in X2, the movie. This trait did not appear in any previous comics or alternate universes. As indicated in this story, he ostensibly does it as a method of atonement.


	6. Parental Guidance

OOO

Pietro smiled as he felt his blood rushing and adrenaline pumping like it hadn't in weeks. Ever since a few weeks earlier, Wanda had taken to being a lot tetchier about their abilities and started chiding him whenever he ran. He'd gone to Father Anderson who'd expressed many of the same sentiments, so he was forced to either ran fast enough that he could hope not to be seen or stay still when they were around. It was a terrible position to be put in; he loved running almost as much as he hated doing extra chores, especially when Fr. Anderson monitored him to make sure they weren't done 'too' quickly.

They were both at dinner, though, so he was free to run uninhibited. He knew he could get into a lot more trouble than he would for simply running by going into Father Anderson's room and it was probably some sort of sin to boot. However, he'd overheard snatches of conversation, about Kurt and others, which convinced him more than ever that the head priest was up to something. If he ran fast enough, he was confident he could find proof that he could show Wanda and replace it before he was discovered. He needed to know and wanted very badly to have the proof to shove in her face.

As soon as he entered, he groaned. He knew Father Anderson was scholarly, but he hadn't expected quite so many books. Despite being fast, he realized he'd probably have to make a return trip or two just to look at everything thoroughly and without being noticed. Reminding himself that if he didn't hurry he would be late for dinner, he started flipping through books and quickly scanning them for any subject manner or margin notes that might confirm what he suspected.

Grabbing the first book he saw, he started flipping, going through the stacks and replacing them as he went. He was barely through the first thirty when something fell out of a dog-eared copy of _Summa Theologica_. Curious, he put the books aside for a moment and picked it up. It was a picture of Anderson and Wanda, taken many years ago; he was the same as ever but she didn't appear to be much older than five or six. Wanda was clinging to the priest and they seemed to be whirling around. At first he stared at the photography blankly; then a memory inside of him stirred.

His sister had skinned her knee one day long ago and Father Anderson, in an attempt to cheer her up, had taught her Irish songs. They had ended up singing Finnegan's Wake at the tops of their lungs and dancing around the orphanage's infirmary until they were dizzy. He had watched from bed, having broken his leg while climbing a tree, clapping the rhythm of their melody. The sisters had found it amusing and one of them had gone and fetched a camera, snapping the shot when neither of them was looking. Apparently he'd gotten a copy and kept it.

When he shifted his weight, the floorboards creaked and he suddenly recalled his purpose. Replacing the photograph, he moved on to the next books, becoming increasingly disappointed. There wasn't even a copy of the _Malleus Maleficarum_ (although Wanda was adamant that it wasn't an official text and had been condemned, that was probably just her being Wanda again). He gritted his teeth and decided to concede defeat for the moment and head down to dinner. As he turned, however, he noticed that the floorboards were creaking again, in a way that wasn't altogether normal.

A quick examination revealed a secreted compartment and he withdrew a decent sized volume out from it. A quick flip through it made him grin; it was not only proof that vampires existed, but irrefutable evidence that Anderson knew of them and participated in their demise. The volume was a meticulous record of each and every incident he had been in, including date, location and number of creatures destroyed with relevant notes written underneath.

There would be no way Wanda could go on insisting he was wrong after he showed her this, he though. Excited, he dashed out the door, failing to see where he was running, and ran right into someone coming up the steps. The someone stumbled back slightly then righted himself and Pietro.

"Well, well," he said. "What do you have there?"

Pietro glanced upwards and found himself staring once more into the emerald eyes of Enrico Maxwell.

OOO

Wanda hummed softly as she tossed the salad. Behind her she could hear the muted sounds of a knife chopping as Kurt cut a few vegetables for side dishes. Then, at the door, came a weighty thump, a sound Wanda knew better than any other in her life.

Father Anderson's footsteps.

She turned around to face him, the salad bowl in hand, her face beaming.

"I've finished preparing the salad, Father," she informed him quietly.

He smiled and nodded, then went to take it from her and put it out on the table. For the briefest moment, his rough hands ran over her slender, soft ones and she smiled. It relaxed her to think of his hands, large and competent, as if there was nothing they could not do. They were hands that held her world together, kept the orphans safe and comforted them, bandaged wounds and wiped away tears and broke up fights.

It was a curious thing, she mused as she got a pitcher of iced tea out of the refrigerator, but it seemed to her that the earliest memory she could recall was being held by those hands and knowing just to feel them that she was safe. Hands like those would never drop her, never let her down.

Kurt bamf-ed into the dining room, causing the children to giggle, just as she set down the pitcher in the middle of the table. She laughed as the blue-skinned would-be-priest joked with them, but a quick glance around the room caused her brow to furrow.

"Pietro's late again," she muttered disapprovingly.

"Do you vant me to get him?" Kurt offered.

"No," she sighed. "I'll get him myself."

She tromped up the steps in a labored fashion, angry that for as fast as her brother insisted he was, he never seemed to be where he was supposed to be, when he was supposed to be there.

"Pietro!" She screamed up the steps.

Enrico smiled down at the boy when he heard Wanda calling.

"Why don't you give me that?" He whispered. "Don't worry. I'll let you read it later. I understand. But not now. You don't want to rouse suspicion do you?" Pietro shook his head 'no.' "Well then the best way to do that would be to go down to dinner and act like everything is normal. I assure you, you won't get into trouble. But it's better that it looks like I was borrowing this than if you got caught with it. I know, you were just curious, not really thieving. Even so.

Now hurry. She's waiting."

Pietro nodded and dashed down the first flight and around the landing to join his exasperated sister.

"I thought I told you that Father Anderson didn't want you running! And what were you doing up there anyway?"

"You're such a little brown-nose, aren't you? Always doing what Father Anderson wants," he snorted. "I was just getting ready. 'Sides, it's none of your business."

She glowered at him, and then turned around sharply, causing the bulb in a wall lamp to shatter as she did so.

"And you yell at me…"

"_I_ don't do it on purpose. There's a difference," she snapped.

"Whatever. Race ya!" He laughed and then dashed to his seat in the space of a moment. Sighing in annoyance, she came down shortly after, and once they were all seated and settled down, they turned to Farther Anderson for a blessing before eating. Pietro was attempting to kick Wanda's feet under the table but she gritted her teeth and told herself that she didn't want to cause a scene for Father.

She was actually rather proud that nothing disastrous happened that second time. It seemed like her control was getting just a little bit better.

OOO

After dinner, Anderson quickly excused himself. The hour was getting late and while he had arranged to meet the smith after normal working hours, in order to avoid suspicion, he didn't want to delay the man too much. Even if he was a Section worker, not all of those (outside of Section XIII, of course) were priests or religious. Quite a few, in fact, were simply very devoted laity who had particular skills but also desired to have families. Since other sections didn't make such stringent demands, they permitted those luxuries.

His particular destination was at the shop of a man who ostensibly crafted high quality silver dinner-ware and services with many of the older accents and flourishes. However, he was also skilled in the art of forging weapons, more specifically weapons made of blessed silver or simply hard-edged steel.

Tonight Anderson was visiting for the holier side of the weapon's dealing. He knocked on the backdoor and was left in without as much as a sound, once the man inside peeked through the small lens in the door. Inside there was a small table with a dim lamp on it, as well as two boxes, one lengthy and one just slightly shorter.

"You may examine them for as long as you wish," the middle-aged smith told him, stepping back so that Anderson could view the work at his leisure.

Taking the lids off, he ran his calloused hands over the contents and smiled.

"They're perfect," he said as the one drew a thin line of blood from his fingers. He wiped the blade off with a deft movement as his hand healed, then replaced the lids and tucked the boxes beneath his arms. He placed a clinking bag onto the table with his free hand and the two men nodded to each other. Then Anderson headed to the door one again and lumbered off silently into the night.

To be honest, he'd known he never talk Kurt out of it. And it always helped to be well-prepared.

OOO

A few days later, after the private ceremony at the orphanage chapel with the children, Fathers Anderson and Maxwell and Sisters Heinkel and Yumiko, Kurt sat at the head of the table laughing and teasing with the children. The Father Anderson stood and walked out of the room for a moment. When he returned, he had the two long packages with him. He stood at the doorway for a moment, and then cleared his throat.

"Children," he said "Ah woold like ah moment wi' Kurt, if ye dinnae mind."

Somewhat crestfallen, the children cleared out nevertheless, Pietro pouting as he went. Maxwell regarded his subordinate closely as he placed the two boxes on the table in front of Kurt with a smile. They were wrapped in brown paper but the trappings belied what lay inside.

"From all of oos, noo tha' ye are one of oos," he said, indicating the two nuns with a gesture.

Kurt tore the paper off then lifted the lids and, one after the other, lay a rapier and a sabre on the table. In the light of the dining room, two names twinkled on the blades, just above the hilts.

_Turpin_

_Aramis_

"Their names?"

"Aye."

"Guide zem vell. Zey are built for monster slaying," Heinkel told him with a grin.

"You can get used to them when we practice our swordsmanship this week!" Yumiko said with a tiny smile of her own.

"Marvelous!" Kurt exclaimed, taking the rapier and leaping on the table to try a few moves.

Maxwell clapped along with the rest of them, but his eyes were drawn to a quick movement at the door. The boy was so eager that it was almost too easy to win him over.

The only question was how to make a room with the ability to handle massive amounts of friction that was soundproof to the point where it could muffle a sonic boom.

OOO

CC: Nightcrawler has used both rapiers and sabers in comic continuity before, and does so again in Ultimate Alliance, where he's seen using two sabers. He is often portrayed as having a swashbuckling attitude, leading to identifications with Errol Flynn.

CC2: In the first chapter, the reference to Wundagore refers to the mountain where the 616 Maximoff twins were born. It is a mountain in Transia, a Marvel nation (like Latvaria) near Transylvania and formerly part of Wallachia (where Vlad Dracul was a prince). A demon on Wundagore (Chthon) is partially responsible for Wanda's powers in the Marvel 616 universe.


	7. Judas Rising

OOO

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Water fell from the faucet of the corner sink, running into the drain and keeping time as Frank Castle did push-ups inside his cell. There were no other sounds to be heard at the moment, apart from his breathing; he had been placed into solitary due to his attacks on fellow prisoners. He would not be long for the prison, however.

Sounds began to rise from down the hallway and shots rang out. There were no clocks to be found but he suspected that they were right on time. Castle stood and pulled a shiv out from beneath his bed in case he needed it; it was crude, but one had to make do. Carefully, he flipped the little flap where they pushed his food in through and found himself looking into a glowing eye with blue lids.

"Ja, I see him," said an accented voice. "Stand back."

He back away from the door and moments after he did so there was a puff of smoke. A blue person dressed in priestly clothing stood before him, extending a three-fingered hand.

"Come. Ve must hurry. Brace yourself."

Castle nodded and held on as sulphur filled his nostrils. There was a nauseating sensation and when he opened his eyes they were on the roof of the prison. There was a helicopter situated on it, the blades already spinning, with a 'XIII' and a cross on the side. The blue one had already bounded inside and two more were waiting as well; what seemed to be a brunette priest piloting the plane and an Asian nun in the back seat who was now tending to the blue one - he hadn't noticed immediately, but the other had a gun shot in the shoulder.

"Velcome," said the pilot, the voice equally accented but betraying her as a woman. "I'm Sister Heinkle, zat is Sister Yumiko and ze blue vone ist Father Kurt."

He nodded and slammed the door.

"Let's go," he growled, and they lifted off just as the guards began pouring onto the roof, futilely shooting at the chopper.

They flew in silence for a while. Then he felt a hand upon his shoulder and as he turned he saw that it was the nun; closer inspection revealed that she was of Japanese heritage. Her eyes regarded him timidly from behind large glasses and she blushed when she spoke.

"Welcome to Iscariot," she said softly. "I've heard a lot about you... tell me, is it true how you were arrested?"

"Eh," he muttered. "I got careless was all."

"Did it really take two whole police squadrons?"

"Yeah. And Spiderman."

"Spiderman?" She asked in a vacant tone.

"American superhero. Don't suspect you would have heard of him. Makes the papers in NYC. Sometimes more."

"Oh."

"Yeah. Didn't figure news of him would cross the pond quite yet. Pretty much just a mutant in pyjamas or something. Trouble is, even though he's fighting crime, he's got this thing against killing. That's why he brought me in."

"Vell, you'll find no such prohibition in Iscariot," Heinkle spoke up from the front seat. "Ve take our job very seriously."

"Say wait a second - I just remembered something. That incident with those priests over in the Middle East. The ones being held for ransom until two people showed up and killed all the captors - was that you?"

Yumiko blushed furiously. Yumi had been rather out of control that day and Maxwell had really let them have it afterwards.

"Ja, zat vas us," Heinkle confirmed.

Castle turned to Yumiko, confused.

"You were the one with the sword? But you're so -"

"Quiet?" He nodded. "I know. Until I take my glasses off. Then Yumi takes over."

"Oh."

They lapsed back into silence for a while until Heinkle broke it with news of their landing. The came down in a field outside of New York and walked up to a house where they found Maxwell inside conversing with a red-headed man in dark glasses. Introductions were made then Maxwell excused himself.

"I'll leave him to you, Matthew," he said with a smile. "We must return soon, I'm afraid. Busy, busy, busy. But it was good to get a tour of some of the American facilities."

"Indeed. I shall hear from you soon again?"

"Possibly."

They shook hands then the red-head lead Frank downstairs to see the weapon's cache and training area. The four Iscariots walked back out to the landing strip where the helicopter was being refueled. They were to leave it there, however, and took a plane back instead. Heinkel flew once again and Maxwell settled down with a mask over his eyes to get some rest. Kurt opened up a book to read and Yumiko persisted in staring out of the window until Heinkel looked back and gave her a knowing smile.

"You vere vatching him quite closely," she teased and the Japanese nun blushed.

"It was nothing. Just... he seemed so calm. But I've seen the footage of him attacking. He goes into a complete bullet-flying rage. And so it struck me that, well, he's a little like me. Maybe not so divided. But somewhat."

Heinkel allowed the subject to drop. However, when Maxwell finally stirred as they drew closer to Italy, she spoke up once more.

"Maxwell - the American operative - vas he blind?"

Enrico gave her a smirk.

"I was wondering when one of you would notice. As for your answer; yes and no. Technically yes. But I've seen him working. Don't let him fool you for a moment. I venture to say, without any slight intended, that he is better than the both of you."

She raised her eyebrows but said nothing more and brought the plane down without incident.

OOO

Pietro had been dying to have everything explained to him, impatient since the night he had discovered the book. Thus it was hard to keep from bolting in front of his entire class when he was called to the office, seemingly for no apparent reason. As he had guessed, however, Enrico was waiting for him. The priest motioned for him to be quiet then took him outside and ushered Pietro, bookbag and all, into a dark car.

"Now then," he said once the doors were shut and he'd started then engine. "I suppose I ought to begin at the beginning - as you have already guessed, I'm sure, Father Anderson and I are not completely normal. We are part of a special strike force: Iscariot, Section XII."

Pietro listened, breathless with amazement, as Maxwell filled him in on the particulars of their service, on the existence of vampires, werewolves and many other creatures as well, on Father Anderson's role, on Kurt's recent induction. He explained the entries in the book, the battles Anderson had taken part in and the enemies he'd taken out.

"And I get to be in it too?" He shouted at last, no longer able to contain his enthusiasm.

"Yes," Maxwell laughed. "With talent like yours? You most certainly do."

"Awesome! Do I get a gun? How about a sword? No, wait, a lightsaber!"

"I'm afraid that last one is still fiction. We'll probably be giving you a sword; a weapon you're holding will go as fast as you can whereas a projectile will only go as fast as it can be shot. And I'm assuming you can outrun most forms of projectiles?"

The boy snorted. "Heck yes. I can outrun speeding arrows, bullets, cannon balls..."

"And you know this because you tried?" Maxwell asked, looking bemused as Pietro blushed.

"Well, I think I can anyway. I mean, I can go faster than anything you've ever seen."

"We'll be clocking you today to see just how fast is fast for you. But if you can outrun anything I've ever seen, well, let's just say that I believe I can safely state you will not only be a part of our organization, but an invaluable part. Just remember: not a word of this to Father Anderson."

"Why? Won't he be proud?"

"Eventually, yes. But he is unreasonably protective of his charges and gets irate and out of sorts when they first join."

"Were you his charge?"

Maxwell paused, taken aback for a moment.

"Why yes, I was," he said carefully.

"Was he mad when you joined?"

"Possibly. But I think that for me he knew it was inevitable, so the day of my joining was unsurprising as he'd already gotten used to the idea. He didn't make nearly the fuss over me or even Sister Heinkle that he did over Sister Yumiko."

"And what about him?"

"Who? Father Anderson?"

"Yeah. How did he join?"

"You know," he replied in a vaguely surprised tone, turning the car into a parking space. "I don't really know. It was far before my time and I'd never thought to ask - though the impression Father Renaldo always gave to the recruits was that he didn't like to talk about past times. That or he couldn't remember - and maybe those are the same things."

As soon as the car had shut off, Pietro rushed out and ran towards the door, then back a fraction of a second later when he realized that he didn't know where he was going. Maxwell gave him another bemused grin.

"Slow down there, speedster. At least, slow down right now, until you need to go fast."

Maxwell then lead him to the special training area that the Iscariot scientists and engineers had built for the boy. Pietro was first given a physical and then hooked up to various machines. The boy took them through their paces, slowly at first then gradually increasing. Finally, as he started to run with abandon, the numbers on the instruments began to increase in a blur until at last came what would have been an ear-splitting, glass shattering phenomenon had not the area been specially constructed. Pietro came to a halt and gave Maxwell, who was observing from behind a specially tempered window of plexiglass, a thumbs up and the priest nodded his approval.

"Well done Pietro. You capped at 338 meters per second. Not bad for a first try."

"I can go faster," he protested, puffing for breath. "I'm just out of shape. They don't let me run as fast as I want to." He panted again. "They're holding me back, but I'll get up to speed with practice."

"Precisely what I wanted to hear," Maxwell told him, entering the practice area and helping the exhausted boy out. "You are a good boy, Pietro, and you should be proud of your talents no matter what anybody says. And I promise you - someday you will get to show them off in public."

"Not now though?" He frowned.

"Yes; but do not worry. It's for a very important reason. Pietro, we at Section XIII have many enemies and you could be a trump card against them..." The boy brightened and stood up straighter. "...but only if you have the element of surprise. If it gets out that we have a recruit like you so many years before you'll be ready for fieldwork - and yes I did say years, this is after all a serious business - those foes will be able to prepare for you."

"Hmph. Let them try. I'll get so fast, _nobody _will be able to stop me! And they won't be able to prevent me from running where I want, when I want!"

"I'm sure you will; but for now, keep it under wraps and you will be an even more potent fighter when your day finally comes."

Pietro heaved a sigh but nodded.

"OK. Makes sense. I guess."

"Good. I know it makes you unhappy, but we do need men who can follow orders. It's the mark of a good soldier."

This oblique praise cheered him again and they returned to the car, Pietro finally breathing normally again.

"We will continue on like this," Maxwell informed him. "You will be taken out of school for two hours every day and then return at the end to go home with your sister."

"That long? Won't Father Anderson find out?"

"Probably, eventually. The teachers have been instructed to keep things under wraps for as long as possible, but I'm sure it will slip out one way or another. You let me worry about that though. Once you've been trained and integrated, given too much knowledge, there won't be much he can do besides protest and uselessly thunder about; and I assure you, none of this will fall on your head or he will be severely reined in."

Pietro nodded and turned to look out the window. The scenery rushed by, but not nearly as fast as he would have liked it. Everything looked better when he was running, felt better when he was running. His heart pounded just thinking about it. Even after he returned to school, he was distracted for the rest of the day and long after heading back to the orphanage.

He did his homework as quickly as he could, then bounded from one activity to the next. Nothing could hold his attention for long and all he felt like doing was waiting impatiently for the morrow when he could finally run again.

OOO

CC: Two more famous Marvel characters with Catholic connections appeared in this chapter. The first, Frank Castle, aka the Punisher - who was, in fact, Marvel-canonically training to be a priest at one point before he'd married. The other - obviously an AU version since he is already part of Iscariot, is the blind Daredevil, aka Matthew Murdock. Canonically he also has a mother who became a nun. In this AU's fictional past, she was the one who drew him into Iscariot when he first acquired his heightened senses in the accident that took his sight.


	8. Delivering The Goods

There has been a three year lapse between this chapter and the last.

OOO

Maxwell was right; Anderson had been furious when he'd discovered what Pietro had done. This had only, however, made the boy more determined than ever. Though the tension between them grew so bad that Pietro moved out and stayed in an apartment near Maxwell's and began to be privately tutored, the boy was determined to see it through until the end.

The inevitable and unfortunate consequence, his separation from his sister Wanda, was perhaps the only part of the situation that Pietro disliked or regretted. Although Pietro had enjoyed gloating when the circumstances had become such that keeping the truth from Wanda about her brother, Anderson and Maxwell was no longer possible, he found that he missed her so much that even his 'I told you so's' were little solace. So in between training and classes he tried to visit her as often as possible and encouraged her in every way he could to follow his path.

The end result was not precisely what he'd hoped for; she consented to train, but more to get her power under control and be a greater part of the lives of those she loved than any fervent desire to kill or fight. Father Anderson was supervising her training as well, which meant that there was little chance of him seeing her during those hours or of them training together.

As the years had gone by, Maxwell had increased his training time from to hours to three and gradually more. By this time Pietro was working out or training nearly five hours a day, in one form or another, whether it was reading up about how to deal with threats, working out in the training room or studying weapons and devices used in the field.

Maxwell was watching him through the glass, as he always did, when one of the medical technicians approached him.

"He seems to be doing well with the naginata," Maxwell remarked as Pietro swung the blade around, devastating the massive group of dummies that had been in place around him. "He also performed brilliantly with the voulge."

"So you've settled on a bladed pole-arm then, at least?"

"I think so. Projectile weapons make no sense because he can run faster than them and with a pole-arm he can cover a much wider area than a sword or dagger as I was originally considering. Of course, he should carry a firearm as well, for close quarters or if his movement is impeded. But I think he will do quite well with something like this."

The technician nodded then held out a report in his hands. Maxwell took the paper and began to glance at the results.

"It is as we've been tracking all along. His body is changing to adjust to the rigors of running at the speeds that he does. His skin has become more impervious to friction and heat, the vitreous fluid in his eyes has thickened, his bones and joints have become more resilient, his metabolism and heart rate have jumped way up – even his synapses are firing faster to process the information he encounters when he runs so that his vision remains clear. Plus, there's evidence that he can control his speed more minutely and precisely than previously believed."

"What does this mean for us, practically?" Maxwell asked, still looking over the figures as Pietro tore through another series of dummies in the space of a moment.

"Practically? It means that his talents aren't limited to running. His jumping abilities far exceed the normal, including jumping off of surfaces horizontally. He has been able to both run up walls and run across water without submerging for significant lengths. While by no means impervious, his skin is lightly resistant to heat. By running in circles, he can create cyclonic effects. He will need to eat more to keep his energy up; but, any attempts to tranquilize him will be affected by the force of his metabolism. He can read and absorb things more quickly – though there are no indications that this results in any greater understanding than if he'd read at a normal rate, simply equivalent recall. Perhaps most excitingly, however, is the idea of his vibrational speed."

"Oh?"

"As he's gotten older, his control has improved. Going faster does not simply mean running faster. It may mean vibrating faster – to the point where he can go through moderately sized objects that aren't made of any particularly molecularly compact material. Of course, this is only theoretical – he is only just starting to master such control and it will be a while before he can attempt such a feat, let alone perform it successfully. The way he's mutating, he could be able to do it but it ultimately remains to be seen.

"There is one more thing, however. As I stated, his mutation is continuing – speeding up even as he enters into adolescence. But we believe it could go even faster. The lab is working now on a way to accelerate and amplify it with an isotope. The caveat is that we have no suitable test subjects, other than the boy himself. Even if it is safe in laboratory animals, because it is designed to interact with his mutation it could have serious consequences. You could lose him; or he could become faster and exceed expectations to a degree yet unforeseen."

"When will this drug be ready?" The priest inquired.

"Soon. We will let you know." The other man's face was anxious. "Do take your time in making this decision. Please. I cannot impress strongly enough on you how very risky this is."

"You make it sound as if it's my decision alone, as if I would subject him to something he did not wish."

"You and I both know that even if you ask, it's still your decision. As long as it's what you want, you know he'll comply. Just promise that you will consider both options carefully?"

"I suppose."

"You shouldn't take the boy's loyalty lightly. You know, he's been running himself to exhaustion some days. He presses himself to the point where he simply passes out. We had to give him oxygen twice last week alone and three weeks ago he very nearly dehydrated; he was so focused on running that he forgot about his fluid intake."

"So diligent…" Maxwell mused, nodding thoughtfully, then bent over the microphone that connected into the room.

"You may come up, Pietro."

The boy was at his side in a second, slick with sweat and smiling.

"Did you see me? How did I do? I'm going faster, aren't I? Finally getting beyond Mach 10. Been trying to get there, finally made it."

"I noticed. Excellent work," he said with a smiled, patting Pietro's shoulder and giving him a smile.

"Thanks! And I've been keeping up with my weights too since my legs get exercised when I run but my arms need more building, and they've got me jumping now and doing things like huge hurdles and really bizarre obstacle course stuff, but it isn't a problem for me, really it isn't."

"I see that. You know Pietro, I'm very proud of you," here the boy grinned, "and I think it's high time that your education progressed to, shall we say, the next level."

"You mean…"

"Don't get impatient. There will still be a great deal to do, including finally settling on a weapon for you. But I think can safely say that you will be getting your feet wet before the year is out. Nothing major at first, mind you, and I expect you'll be more subtle than those other three. But there are… strange signs on the horizon and I want to be sure you're ready."

"You can count on me, Father," Pietro say, his eyes glinting and thirsty. At his side his hand trembled, just slightly. "I will be your greatest weapon. I will slay your enemies in the space of a breath, I will be an unrelenting whirlwind in your cause, I will be ever at your side and I promise you, I _promise_ you, I will even surpass Father Anderson."

The boy looked up into Maxwell's eyes and the older man saw the depth of devotion that they contained. Startled, he now realized that this was the devotion that Heinkel and Yumiko had for Anderson. Maxwell smiled.

"Amen," he whispered.

"Amen," Pietro replied.

An assistant came rushing up to Maxwell just then, panting. Pietro broke off the gaze and looked at the new-comer. "I'll go wash up," he said softly and Maxwell nodded, giving him leave before turning to the other man.

"Yes?"

"Sir, you need to return to your office. This moment. It's imperative. The American director is here and he says that he needs to speak with you without delay. That it's of the utmost importance. He was extremely insistent."

"I'm coming," Maxwell said, walking rapidly towards the exit.

OOO

"Maxvell is going to have a fit," Kurt muttered as he wiped the blood off onto his cassock.

"Vell if Yumiko had changed ve vouldn't be in this situation!"

"No, we'd be in a worse one because Yumi would have gone berserk," the Japanese nun said quietly. "We'd known all along that the plan was for me to be the bait, we just didn't know how quickly it would escalate. Besides – at least now you know the technique works."

"Vell it vas not something I relished doing," Kurt sighed. "It takes enough strength to transport as it is – let alone with another and making sure that I'm only transporting his head!"

"It vas extremely impressive," Heinkel said, grinning and starting up the ignition. "Quite a fountain of blood."

Kurt scrunched up his face in disgust. "I just vant a shower vhen we get back."

When they finally pulled into the garage they used, in order to enter the building unseen, they saw two men, one carrying a box, entering the stairwell. The three of them froze for a moment and stared, and then Heinkel flashed Yumiko a smug grin.

"Vell, look who it is. Long time no see, eh?"

"Frank…" She breathed.

OOO

"Why did you not give me notice that you were coming?" Maxwell inquired as he slid into the chair behind his desk. Matthew Murdock, the head of the American Iscariot branch, was sitting in front of him with a guard, Frank Castle, looming behind him. Maxwell remembered briefly that he was the one they'd freed from prison and it seemed to have worked out.

"We felt that it was unwise, given the nature of what we were transporting," Father Murdock explained. "We had a great deal of trouble isolating and securing it and since it was not in our power to completely destroy it, we settled for sealing it off. We figured that this would be the most secure place to store it, given the level of protection you can offer."

"I won't dispute that; I simply wish we could have prepared more."

"Again, I apologize. The capture was recent and any advance notice might have given others an opportunity to steal it and use it for their own purposes. This was, I assure you, the fastest way – quickly and quietly without preamble."

"I understand." Maxwell reached out and moved the box towards him, tracing the sigil on the lid with his finger. The surface of the container seemed to be warm, as if he could feel its power emanating out even now. "We will keep it as we must and eventually destroy it if we can."

"Thank you."

"And what of other affairs in America? I have sent you notice of the way things are progressing over here. Have you noticed anything where you are?"

"That is difficult to tell. The adversary is being cautions in the States. We have been in contact with other groups, however, which have come across unusual occurrences – always maintaining distance and discretion of course," he said, hearing Maxwell make a small noise of dissatisfaction at the idea of relying on other organizations.

"I trust that you can control the situation; but be forewarned, it might get out of hand."

"I will keep that in mind," he said with a nod. "And now I think it's time we must return."

"So soon?" A female voice from the door asked. Yumiko was looking at the group, with Heinkel and a freshly-showered Kurt behind her.

"Well… I suppose we _could_ stay for lunch," Murdock said with a smile.

"Let's go put this away in the basement first and then we can all go and get something," Maxwell said.

OOO

After his practice, Pietro took his time to shower and eat. He could have done it faster but he was completely exhausted and just wanted to relax a little while. He turned the shower up to hot and just let the water his hit skin, feeling himself unwind. Then he wandered down to the training center's cafeteria where he was given food that conformed to his particular diet, high in complex carbohydrates.

Finally done, he wondered if Maxwell had gotten back yet and decided to look at the office. The door was opened and he wondered where the priest was. Then an idea struck him and, grinning, he took a seat behind the desk, kicking his feet up and figuring that he could rely on his speed to get him out if anybody came.

He twirled in the chair, briefly, then began going through the drawers. Most of the stuff in the room was boring, mundane bureaucratic paperwork; the file on the Iscariot members that was in the corner, however, was interesting. He looked at his and grinned to see the glowing reports of his progress over the years. He took a peek at Kurt's, a bit surprised at what the normally amicable priest was apparently able to do.

Pietro was about to run back to his own room when one last thought crossed his mind. He pulled Anderson's file and decided to take a peek inside. It was a thicker document with lots of reports later on about all the missions he'd done, mostly information Pietro had already seen. The beginning, however, had a great many gaps in the information.

It seemed that not even Maxwell or the Organization knew where he'd come from, where he'd been born – anything like that. From what Pietro could tell he'd just shown up one day, out of nowhere. The only clue to anything was another photograph, not unlike the one that he'd found of Anderson and Wanda, a shot of the man in an unguarded moment.

This picture was much older, however. It was creased, as if it had been folded and stored in a pocket, and the color was badly faded. In the picture, Anderson (still looking the same as ever, though not dressed as a priest) and another man were playing poker while a third man watched, smoking a cigarette and holding a beer. It looked as if there were in a camp of some sort, though Pietro couldn't be certain of more.

He flipped the picture over and on the back, written in a thin scrawl, were the words 'Wade, Andy and Jim.'

A noise came from down the hall and in the blink of an eye the picture was replaced, the drawer was shut and Pietro was in his own room taking a nap while he waited for Maxwell to return.

OOO

AN: I haven't written any author notes here for a while but felt I should mention a few things. I have gotten away from Anderson and Wanda; rest assured they will be showing up next chapter. Next chapter will also be this fic's first glimpse of the Hellsing Organization. And as previously mentioned a few chapters back, the first person to correctly point out the chapter naming pattern gets a virtual cookie. Or I will answer one question about the future of the story for that reviewer alone. Whichever. :)

CC: In the Marvel 1602 universe, Pietro serves as the servant, and secretly son of, Magneto, who in 1602 is the High Inquisitor of Spain; in this continuity, Magneto's name is Enrique. Also in this continuity, Wanda is a nun who wears a red habit.

CC2: Although this Pietro's skills are an amalgam of the Ultimate Pietro, with help from a Marvel/DC RPG guide on power specifics, Isotope E was a substance the 616 Pietro used to drastically enhance his skills. Certain abilities mentioned (such as the vibration theory) hold true in continuity for characters like the Flash, if not Pietro himself. While Pietro never 616 Marvel-canonically exhibited such characteristics, his Ultimate version came much closer and given the opportunity for experimentation to increase his speed, he could theoretically reach such levels.


	9. Night Comes Down

OOO

_Years earlier, across an ocean, a young boy had a dark dream…_

"Father!" The boy shot out of bed, panting and sweaty.

A man burst into the room, called by the sounds of his son's scream. "What is it Larry?"

"I saw… things, father… things of fire and… and… it was dark… there were men laughing…"

"Calm down son," the man said, sitting by the child's bed and picking up a medallion from the floor. "Tell me what you saw." The boy shook and opened his mouth, but no sound came out. "Do you need a drink?"

"Yes, please."

"I'll go get you one." He was back in a moment with a cup of water which the boy eagerly gulped. "Now, what was all this about?"

"I dreamt of a fire," he said. "A bunch of different flames, from all over. It was like I was floating first and could see above the earth. Fires from the east and west and south all came together, and they were of all different colors, it seemed, yellow and red and green and blue and purple… they were all going to the same place."

"Do you know where?"

"That island by Europe…"

"England?"

"Yeah!"

"A fire. And then what?"

"And then I in a city, only it wasn't a city anymore. All of the buildings were destroyed and everything was burning and there was darkness everywhere. There were people but I couldn't see who they were, and in the center of it all a man was laughing. There was so much fire around him, it was engulfing him, but he didn't seem to care. There were more screams. Someone shouted 'father' and then everything grew silent. Then…" he trembled.

"Then?"

"Then everything went silent and the fire burned brightly until it was all I could see. It hurt my eyes. And then I woke up."

"I see. Well, that's quite a nightmare. But listen to me, Larry – keep this on," he instructed his son, draping the medallion back around his neck. "I told you, if you wear this it will keep the nightmares away."

"Like a dream-catcher?"

"Yes. Like a dream-catcher."

"OK, dad." He lay back down on the pillow. "I won't see it again?"

"You won't. I promise. Now get some rest."

The man rubbed his son's hair, but frowned as soon as the boy's eyes were closed. He went back downstairs and made himself a drink, downing it in one go as he pondered about the boy's vision.

It sounded as though Armageddon was coming and mutants would be involved; and he be damned if he wasn't going to be prepared.

OOO

Anderson bent down and picked up the molten mass of slag that was on the floor. A moment ago, it had been a gun. He grinned.

"Good job, lass!"

She glowed with the praise. "I am getting more accurate, aren't I?"

"Aye, Ah should say so. Yeh are ae sight better thon ye were when we started."

"I'm glad. I have broken anything in ages!" He nodded, smiling ruefully, and she sighed. "You have bad news, don't you Father? You're leaving aren't you? That priest who came today…"

"Yeh saw?" He was barely surprised.

"From the window," she nodded, biting her lip. "Why are you leaving us, Father? Is it for…"

"Aye, lass. Northern Ireland. I wouldna leave yeh for less."

"Will… will you come back Father?" She trembled and her eyes were glassy.

"Ah always have before," he replied, sweeping her into a reassuring hug. "Dinnae worry yerself about me, lass."

"But what if something goes wrong?"

"Nothin' will. And yeh will see me again before this week is over. Ah promise."

They fell silent for a moment then separated. Anderson nodded at her and she watched him leave their practice room to pack. No further good-bye was said, nor was one needed, but she couldn't help feeling anxious and high strung. She wouldn't be able to sleep, she was sure, until he was safely back with her and the other orphans and Ferdinand Luke's.

Then, without warning, she felt a hand on her shoulder.

"Hey, beautiful."

"Pietro!" She gasped, turning around and wondering how long he'd been there. The boy could be as silent as a cat when he wanted.

"Hey yourself," he grinned, giving her an affectionate hug. "Guess who's finally going to get to go on his first mission pretty soon?"

Contrary to his expectations, her face fell.

"You too?"

"What's the matter? Aren't you excited for me?"

"Excited about what? That everybody I love is heading out to get themselves killed?"

"I'm not going to get killed Wanda. I'm the best." He spread his arms open wide in a confident gesture and she burst into tears. "Aw, come on now. What's the matter?"

"Father Anderson is leaving… and now you are… I feel like my world is falling apart…"

"Hey. Quiet. Come on. Smile for me? I'm not leaving that soon."

"But Father…"

"He's a regenerator Wanda. They're not going to throw anything at him that he can't handle. Trust me on this one; I've seen records of what he can do. He's in absolutely no danger. Really. I swear."

Gradually, her tears subsided and she calmed down as they embraced.

"You're sure?"

"Positive."

"Pietro?" She asked in a quizzical tone. "What's an 'Alucard?'"

The boy grew noticeably rigid and she looked up at him.

"Where did you hear that name?" Pietro asked her quietly.

"I… I don't remember… I mean…" She looked confused and put her hand to her head.

"If he's involved… I take back what I said. Father Anderson might be in for a bit of trouble."

OOO

Maxwell cleared his throat as they finished lunch. Nobody noticed and he tapped his fingers, waiting, his fingertips still slightly sore from carrying the box which Fr. Murdock had given them down to a subgroup of Section III which operated out of the basement of his complex. He cleared his throat again, louder, and finally the talking quieted down.

"I have an announcement to make," he said, glad for the privacy of their dining area. "As you all know, we've seen an increase in activity. Recently, there has been an incident in Northern Ireland which desperately requires the attention of our most proficient specialist. We will not, however, be sending him into the field unaccompanied."

There was a pause and Kurt gradually realized that Heinkel and Yumiko were looking at him significantly. He blushed, not that it was noticeable, as he realized what would come next.

"Kurt – you have been waiting long enough. Heinkel and Yumiko have trained you well, but now is the time for you to step out and come into your own with your new partner. From this moment on, you will work with – and if necessary," he said with a fond smirk, "restrain – Father Anderson. Congratulations. You have taken the final step."

There was brief applause and Kurt thanked his fellow Iscariots. Not long after the small party broke up as each headed to their respective locations, Kurt to receive his directions from Maxwell, the nuns home to rest and the two Americans back to their plane.

"Did you speak to her?" Murdock asked, entering the passenger seat.

"In general or about the other thing?"

"Either."

"We just chatted," Frank explained. "I didn't go any further than that. And I'm not entirely sure it's wise – she is, after all, already a split personality and I'm not sure if she could handle three."

"It is pregnant, though?"

"Most certainly."

"And the child will die without a host?"

"That's correct."

"Well, I suppose we can think about it more until it gets closer to the actual time. In the meanwhile…" He activated a communicator, giving Frank a grin. "Sure that using this thing won't make the plane crash?"

Frank simply rolled his eyes, scoffing, and the red-haired priest went back to making his call.

"Beautiful? It's Vivaldi. Yes. And how's my favorite savateur? Good to hear you too. Italy? Italy is fine. Mmm. Well. Regardless. We're going to need you to get ready. Of course. I know you're eager. You should enjoy it. We'll see you when we return. Good-bye." He turned the device off with a quiet beep and snapped it shut.

"Code names?" Frank turned to ask him after he hung up.

"Yes. Just in case.

OOO

Kurt heard footsteps behind him, but he didn't bother to turn around, already knowing who it was.

"Good evening, fraulein."

"I thought you'd be up here. You know, you make it exceedingly difficult to get to you vhen you decide to run off."

"That is the point of going to the roof," he replied with a smile.

"Vell it is an inconvenience to me. Cigarette?"

"You know I don't smoke."

She sighed.

"I know you're nervous. But from vhat I haff seen of you – and vhat I know of Father Anderson – even the undead should not be a problem."

"I know. It's just… Vhat if I can't restrain him?" He looked concerned. "I could do my job vith you and Yumiko. Vhat if I cannot do it now?"

"Kurt – half the time, Maxvell doesn't even really want him to hold back. It is just a formality for him to say that he does."

"Even so. Ve should simply do our jobs and leave. But I know that is not how it vill be. He has not hunted in forever and he's going to be tremendously eager."

"You vant to know vhat I suggest?" He looked at her, curious. "Learn to enjoy the kill and the blood. There vill be much more of it to come."

She turned and left him alone with his thoughts, staring out at the dark night.

OOO

"Pietro, NO!" Wanda pleaded late that night.

"I will not be left here alone, not if he's going and risking himself. And Father Kurt is too, I listened in at Maxwell's door. Now are you coming or not? I can get us there in about nine minutes but you'll have to be wrapped in a particular material to protect you from the friction and stuff. They had some of the stuff left from my practice suits that should work fine."

"Pietro…"

"You can either help or you can sit here on your ass and worry the night away. Now what do you want to do?" He demanded, setting down the stolen silver naginata with a firm thump.

She lowered her head and sighed.

"We're going to die…"

"I'll wrap you up tightly. Just try to hold on as best you can."

OOO

Seras stood and prepped her gun on the orders of her master and mentally braced herself to fire. However, just as she was about to take aim and mow down the ghouls, something akin to a blurry breeze blew past her and in front of her the ghouls bled, then fell into pieces, then were utterly liquidated, just so much spatter against the walls of the building.

"Master…?" She called, uncertain if it was some trick of his. All of the blood around her was setting off her sensed, though, and she noticed one ghoul at the far end who hadn't been killed. She dashed towards him and quickly shot him through, then crushed his skull.

Alucard entered then and looked around, confused. As powerful as her gun was, it couldn't have caused the destruction he saw. There were blade marks and splatter patterns that looked as if something had been whirling. He looked over to her and saw her, dipping her fingers into blood and bringing them up to her mouth to lick; he grinned as she did so, glad she was learning so early.

Before she could complete the action, however, a bayonet suddenly appear, protruding through her throat, and then more throughout her body. She collapsed forward and Alucard started in surprise as she screamed. Suddenly, more bayonets flew by, this time with paper.

A barrier, he realized. He heard footsteps behind him and he turned to face a priest who was gazing at him with a grin more feral than any Alucard had seen in ages.

OOO

A/N: Props to darthjag, who really knows his Marvel, on spotting some of the hints. There are several in this chapter which won't be explained for another couple chapters, so any who spot them feel free to chime in. In the interests of seeing who can spot what, there will be no CC this chapter, but look for plenty of explanations in upcoming chapters if you feel a bit lost at the moment.

And as promised, Hellsing has finally appeared and the result will be (hopefully) interesting. To say the least.


	10. Reckless

OOO

Integra looked at the intelligence officer from behind her desk and gave him a nod as she took the folder from him. He was visibly agitated and frantically explained the situation to her.

"Vatican's Section XIII has made a move!" He cried. "They've dispatched agents to the location near the boarder where Alucard went!"

"How many?"

"Just two. We have rarely seen the one before and don't even have clear photos. He normally works with two other agents, far away from our concerns, so our information is cursory. But the other…" He shuddered.

She looked at the blurry photos of a blue figure that seemed to be wielding swords. Some of the photographs depicted him surrounded by puffs of smoke and her eyes widened just slightly when she realized that he apparently had a prehensile tail.

"The other?" She asked in a tone of command.

"Paladin Alexander Anderson. Their trump card."

At the mention of the name, Integra's mind was made up; there was no way an extended confrontation between Alucard and the paladin could end well and her only alternative was to go there and stop it herself – if she even could. Extracting as much information as she could from Walter, Integra bid that he continue negotiations and ordered that a helicopter and two guards be prepared for a trip to Badrick.

She needed to bring the situation to a halt as quickly as possible; and the fact that another agent was there did nothing to assuage her concern.

OOO

Pietro dashed into the second floor room where he and Wanda had been hiding from Anderson and Kurt. He was spattered with blood and Wanda gasped when he came in.

"Pietro! What happened?"

"Oh, nothing. Just some ghouls," he said, setting the naginata aside and kneeling on the floor beside her to peek through a crack in the floorboards. "They were easy enough to take care of. See? I told you we didn't have anything to worry about."

"Except Father Anderson finding us."

"Don't worry about that. Kurt's downstairs keeping his eyes on Anderson and Anderson's so hyped up right now he wouldn't notice if we ran past the building riding an elephant. He's killed once and now that Alucard's here, he's probably going to go crazy. He's already ripped a new one for that fledgling Alucard brought."

"Alucard? That vampire you were telling me about?"

"Yeah. It's going to be a show to see them come to blows. But I'll be here if he needs backup. Now, shhhh."

They peeked down and saw the two men standing on the floor beneath them. Anderson had apparently thrown up a barrier and now the two males were exchanging barbs. The floor they were kneeling on crackled very faintly with red energy, just to make sure that no stray bayonets came their way. At first all was still except for the voices and the sounds of struggling coming from the fledgling on the floor.

Then with a stab and a shot, it finally broke out.

The opening salvo ended with a quick bout of regeneration for both of them, but Alucard, believing Anderson to be dead, turned his back on the priest. The paladin retaliated with a renewed attack, not allowing the shots from the vampire's gun to faze him. Out of the corner of her eye, Wanda could see Pietro grinning fiercely with clenched teeth as Anderson pinned the vampire to the wall with a barrage of bayonets, and the sound of the boy's panting mixed with the echoes of Anderson's unhinged laughter.

By this time, Seras had pulled the bayonets out of her profusely bleeding body and ran down the hall with Alucard's severed head. Anderson tracked her with slow steps, mocking her all the while and laughing when she ran into the barrier. Pietro longed to be down there and stood to leave, but just as he did he heard a noise.

"That sounds like a helicopter…"

He dashed down, with Wanda following behind, just in time to see Sir Hellsing shoot the bayonets and break them. Staying hidden in the shadows, his countenance was filled with rage when he heard her telling Anderson to back down.

Anderson, predictably, ignored the request and rushed towards her with his blades drawn. Suddenly, however, he was pulled out of his run by a figure appearing in a 'bamf' of smoke.

"NO! Ve haf no orders to kill them!" The German accent of Father Kurt broke through as he reappeared with Anderson some distance back, holding the larger man's arms. "Get a hold of yourself!"

"'Tis nay matter," he growled viciously at her. "Ah already killed thon vampire ye sent. Cut his head clean off."

Rather than getting upset, Integra emitted a short laugh and Wanda heard Pietro's breath hitch.

"That's all?" She said. "It will take more than that. You'd better listen your partner. Get a hold of yourself and back off before he comes to kill you."

"We're not listening to orders from you, you bitch!" Pietro lost control of his temper and appeared behind her in an instant, distracting those present from the rapidly reforming pool of dead flesh and blood. "Anderson will kill him again if he has to – and I suggest you back off, you Protestant _whore_!"

He punctuated the last word by taking a knife out from his boot and, at a speed that Integra had not seen in any creature other than a vampire, slashed her guards and knocked them aside and then in a whirl of wind cut her clothing to ribbons.

For a long and terrifying moment Anderson, Kurt, Seras and Integra stood stunned as the strips of cloth fell to the floor. The fact that Pietro had done something utterly unthinkable made it difficult for them to digest that it had actually happened, and several moments passed before Integra assumed even a faint blush. The men on the floor tried to staunch their flow of blood and Pietro pointed and laughed.

"GHAAAAAAAAA!"

With a scream, the figure on the floor was up and rushing towards Pietro who immediately dashed upstairs, tugging Wanda along. Anderson, almost without thought engaged Alucard again while one of the men gave Integra his shirt and jacket. Alucard was in an absolute fury and Anderson in a protective rage; neither Seras nor Kurt was sure what to do until Anderson screamed at the other priest.

"GET THEM OUT OF HERE!" He yelled as loudly as he could, never taking his eyes off of Alucard.

With a bamf he was gone and Integra glared at Alucard.

"Stand down!" She commanded.

"NO! Those pigs have dishonored you for the first and last time and I will see them all DEAD before I leave here!"

He turned to fire his gun; but as he pulled the trigger no bullet came.

"What?!" He muttered. He tried again and again, but to the same result. Outside the helicopter had started again and Integra and the men were making for it.

"Ah cannae stop yeh noo," Anderson muttered, his eyes focused on the gun as he came to a cold realization, "But Ah will return an' kill ev'ry 'ich oon of they."

A flurry of Bible leaves surrounded him and he was gone, leaving the seething Alucard with nothing to do but hoist a puking Seras up off the floor and make for the chopper with Integra.

OOO

Back at the Iscariot headquarters, Pietro and Wanda were forced into chairs and sat waiting while in an adjoining office Anderson 'explained' what happened to Maxwell. Pietro was pouting, upset that they'd been caught and hauled off, and Wanda, still nauseous from the multiple transports with Kurt, was fretting about Anderson's anger over the incident.

"Th' most vile, juvenile, childish, inappropriate thing Ah've ever seen!" Anderson shouted at him. "Yeh hav'na taught the boy any good sense! He's an immature bairn who should ha' been under yer guard!" He finished, bringing his hands down on the desk with a slam.

"Oh, I don't know Anderson. Nothing bad came of it, did it?" He snickered. "And I would have loved to have seen the look on that sow's face when he did it."

"Are yeh going to punish him?" Anderson

"For what? Youthful exuberance? Giving her what she deserved? I'll talk with him but that's where it ends. And this is where our conversation ends, Alex. Get back to your orphanage and I will call you again when you're needed."

Anderson stormed out of the office, glaring at the two teens that were waiting. Pietro looked away defiantly with a 'hmph' but Wanda looked at him tearfully and stood when he came out.

"Ah'm disappointed in yeh," he said sternly to her, and she broken down.

"See!" She rounded on Pietro. "I told you something like this would happen!"

"Well it was your choice to come!" He shot back as she was lead away by Father Anderson.

Maxwell appeared at the door moments later and put his hand on Pietro's should.

"Impatient much?"

"I'm sorry, it's just when I overheard about them sending Alucard…"

"Yes, yes, I understand. You really must be more careful, though. They know about your being a speedster now."

"Doesn't matter. They can't do anything about it to stop me," he muttered.

"Indeed. So tell me Pietro…"

"Yeah?"

"How far did you go?" Maxwell crouched beside him with a wicked grin on his face. Pietro grinned back.

"Panties. Figured I'd leave her with a little dignity. Cut the bra off though. And let me tell you… _damn_. She needs to quit hiding those sweater puppies, and maybe then she wouldn't look so much like a dude."

Maxwell laughed, then stood and grew serious for a moment.

"This conversation is off the record, you understand."

"Of course. Yeah, sure."

"But let me tell you – whatever Anderson says, I admire your spirit. Unofficially. Officially, I'm afraid I will have to discipline you just slightly."

Pietro's face fell. "Discipline me? With what?"

"Oh, I figured that organizing my office should be enough," he said with a smile.

Pietro grinned at the thought of freely getting to look over sensitive information. "You do realize I'll be done before you can eat lunch, right?"

"That isn't my fault. And Pietro, two more things. First I would like you to accompany me, as one of my personal guard, when we meet up with members of the Hellsing Organization next week."

"Yes!" Pietro jumped up and threw his arms around Maxwell. "You're the best, _padre_!"

Returning the hug, Maxwell smiled then set the excitable boy down.

"The other issue… Pietro, you need to think about this carefully," he said solemnly.

"What?"

"Our researchers think they might have found a way to make you faster. But it's an experimental procedure that involves tremendous risk…"

"I'll do it," Pietro abruptly interrupted, without even taking time to consider. "Just tell me when."

"That's my boy," Maxwell said, wrapping his arm around Pietro's shoulder and the boy beamed. "Now let's get you fitted for a uniform. You need to look proper if you're going to be accompanying me on official business.

OOO

"It vas a complete disaster," Kurt moaned downing another brandy as Heinkel clapped him on the back.

"Look, Pietro's antics veren't your fault, and if it vasn't for you Pietro and Vanda vould haf probably been trapped and maybe even killed. Plus you did your job and kept Anderson from beheading her two guards. You did everything you needed to."

"Then vhy don't I feel any better about it?"

"Relax. Take your time. And don't be so hard on yourself," she chiding him as she lit another cigarette. "It vill get better. Next time such an unfortunately thing vill not happen."

"If you say so…" he sighed, motioning the bartender over.

OOO

"Can you determine why the gun didn't work?" Integra demanded of Walter who had taken the Casull apart and examined every centimeter of it.

He shook his head in disbelief. "No. I can't understand it. It seems to be in perfect working order. Maybe just a fluke?"

She frowned and lit a cigar.

"Flukes don't happen," she said sharply. "See that it doesn't occur again."

"Of course, Sir."

"And find me a Kevlar tailor while you're at it."

"Indeed, Sir."

OOO

CC: The previous chapter began with a flashback scene of the Trask family, namely Bolivar (the father) and Larry. Bolivar designed the mutant hunting sentinel robots despite the fact that both his son and daughter were mutants. His son, Larry, was unaware of his mutation - namely precognition - since his father required him to wear an amulet which suppressed it. After his father's death, Larry carried on the mission of the Sentinels.

A/N: If you've noticed I've changed the title of the fic from "Glory" – now it suits the chapter titles. For those who care but haven't noticed (and even those who neither care nor notice) the chapter titles are each the titles of Judas Priest songs (with one or two ever so slightly altered). They will continue in this trend to the end of the fic and many more will get used so, in an oblique way, looking at a discography might give some hints as to what lies ahead (apart, of course, from the obvious).


	11. Before The Dawn

A note on this chapter: in order to both give background and foreshadow future events, this chapter consists of brief shots of the lives of various Iscariots, followed by flashbacks pertaining to one or more characters just shown in the shot. Essentially, any block of text in italics is a flashback of a varied, indeterminate distance in the past.

OOO

"So what you're saying," Murdock said as he took a sip of his coffee, "Is that you're almost positively, certainly, maybe going to give her the offspring at some point?"

"Yes. I think so," Castle answered. "I haven't come across a better candidate."

"Are you sure that's all it is?"

Castle said nothing in reply but instead gave Murdock a smile he could not see. As he turned to leave, the door burst open and a brunette in a rumpled shirt and collar entered with a package.

"Ah'm back, cheris!" He laughed cheerfully, hefting the large case onto Fr. Murdock's desk.

"How did it go?" He asked, reaching out to touched the case and run his fingers over the clasps.

"Alrigh'," he said, with a wink. "We got th' Samaritan. And you?"

Castle rolled his eyes.

"It wasn't even a real vampire, just some idiot geneticist who thought it would be a good idea to mess around with vampire bat DNA and electricity. It really makes you wonder where they all come from, the crazies who have no excuse other than their own unbridled stupidity and lack of foresight."

"Well, Ah kin remember when you were dat crazy, mon ami."

"It came upon me, though. I never did anything crazy to _myself_."

"Fair 'nough," conceded Deacon LeBeau, taking a pack of cards out and casually shuffling them.

OOO

_He hadn't been with Section XIII more than two months when already he was in trouble – and he hadn't even gone into the church on business. The only reason he was there was to light a candle for his departed family, when he'd heard the bell ringing above him. He'd barely had time to wonder about it before the blackness descended upon him. _

_It oozed down over his head, flowed around him like water, except that it didn't flow off again. And when it knew what kind of man he was, it was exceedingly pleased. _

_Of course, it took some trying to get them under control, and Frank understood that if ever he became a threat to anyone other than the enemy, it was the end for both of them; Murdock would see to that. They got their act together, however, and even some of the more reluctant members of their branch had to admit… _

_They made quite a team. _

OOO

Pietro put up a brave show; however, when the day actually came he was more than a little frightened, even more so than he had been running into Alucard again at the meeting. There, Fr. Anderson had been beside him as Maxwell's backup and they'd even gotten to make a few snide remarks to Integra, including insinuations about the recent attacks and a 'sow' remark that made Pietro snigger.

Besides which, he'd been confident in his new uniform, standing beside his boss. Not even the cutting remarks Integra had made about him being Maxwell's personal 'altar boy' could phase him, though it had nearly resulted in another incident until the fledgling had marched a troupe of elderly tourists through.

This, however, was entirely different. Once the treatment took place, there was nothing he personally could do to control what happened to him. It wasn't like being in a fight, not at all. All he would be able to do would be to wait and see whether it worked, whether it would kill him, or, still worse in his mind, strip him of his power and leave him human.

Maxwell noticed the boy's nervousness, so he promised him something special. Something to prepare him.

"Where are we going, Father?" He asked, getting into Maxwell's private Ferrari F50.

"You'll see. Somewhere special. I thought that you should have this done before you go in for the treatment."

"What do you mean?"

Maxwell only smiled in reply and they drove a little further on. Looking out the window, Pietro's eyes widened when they pulled over and stopped.

" St. John Lateran?" He asked in a hushed tone. "Father? What are we…"

"Come. We mustn't be late."

"Father?!"

"Today will be a rite of passage for you, Pietro, in more ways than one," he told the boy, leading him inside and down a long hallway to a chapel done beautifully in mosaics where there were several men already waiting.

Peitro gasped once, then stopped breathing altogether, and his legs felt like they would give way. The man in the center of the group stood from where he had been kneeling and looked towards the boy with a smile.

"Pietro?" He asked. "Do you wish to be confirmed, child?"

A long, silent moment passed before he found his voice again. Quickly, he knelt and fervently nodded.

"Yes I do, your Holiness; with all my heart and soul."

"I will be his sponsor," Fr. Maxwell declared.

When the service was completed, Pietro felt a surge of emotion; Father Maxwell had done so much, to gain such a favor for him! He felt the priest's arm around his shoulders and looked up at him.

"Are you ready now?"

"More that before. But I'm still… I'm sorry. I will do it, Father, do not doubt me. It's just…"

"Pietro, listen. Look at me," he said, turning the boy towards him. "It is in higher hands than yours now; but are you not a dutiful servant of the Lord? He would not break his own sword, would He? Have faith that it will turn out for the best; you are a good child and have nothing to fear from this trial. Be brave and true and you shall be rewarded."

The anxious look on the boy's face remained a moment longer, then it passed and he nodded fervently.

"Let us go."

The boy had gone with him back to the facility and had not wavered again, did not tremble even during the treatments in the chamber as he was saturated with the chemical mists. Only when he was directly injected did his body eventually convulse and burn with fever; but he did not cry out as he collapsed with Maxwell there to support him, save for one word.

"Father…" he whispered, his body shaking with its reaction.

The boy passed out, then, and Maxwell set him on the nearby bed while attendants watched the monitors hooked up to the boy. They made notes and adjusted dials; and while they did so, Enrico held the boy's limp hand and touched his feverish forehead, looking down upon the child who strove to such heights; and he saw himself reflected.

OOO

_"No! Forget it! You've seen how he acts; and that look he gets creeps me the hell out! He's the devil's own and you damn well know it." _

_"Well, maybe nothing will show up this time. Maybe that's just him, just his personality…" _

_"No way I'm taking a chance on that. You've seen what happened to your relatives in America – you want to end up a target like that? Everybody died but Michael, and believe me, that kid is going to need some serious therapy. I'm not letting this one stick around to be our own little anti-Christ; and once he's gone, no more." _

_"We can't just leave him there can we?" _

_"Sure we can; they're trained to handle that sort of this. Just dump him on the doorstep, and once he's gone, it's not our problem." _

_Enrico had been listening at the door but didn't bother to cry. They didn't want him; well that was alright. They didn't treat him particularly well anyway and he didn't need them. _

_He would show them someday; he would show them all, he thought, his blood boiling beneath the surface but refusing to spill over into tears. Someday he'd get revenge on all of them who tossed him aside and counted him as nothing. _

_Someday… _

OOO

The Major had laughed when he'd seen the two conversing at the café; the fools didn't know what they were getting into. The boy behind the young priest however… he felt something when he saw that boy; the way he stood, the profile he struck, the look in his eyes all reminded him of something he couldn't quite recall…

Until he remembered the other boy, from many, many years ago.

OOO

_The boy had screamed and writhed in the hands of the officers when the train came in from the other camp. Evidently he'd been allowed to stay with his parents there, but now they were being separated and it was causing him no small distress. They had pulled him away quickly enough that the two of them had barely had a chance to glimpse his face; yet the short, fat one was sure he'd never forget it. _

_The Doctor and the Major looked at the twisted hunk of metal that had been the fence and made a note to see what it was about the boy that could have caused such a thing. _

_Much to their chagrin, however, the camp was raided only days later by that infernal special forces group let by that shield-bearing nuisance; they'd barely had enough time to get out themselves, let alone track down one trouble-making gypsy boy. _

_From time to time, though, that fence would cross their minds – and they would wonder. _

OOO

When Father Anderson had returned to the orphanage after completing his mission with Maxwell, he was exhausted. Anticipating this, Wanda had a meal ready and had made up his bed with freshly laundered sheets. She was doing all she could to make sure that she was back in his good graces again, even apologizing from time to time, though their disobedience had been weeks ago.

He smiled at her when he saw what she'd done and called her a good girl. Beaming with the praise, she let him know that his room was ready and he nodded gratefully. She watched him ascend the stairs and heard the door to his room click shut. Certain that all was to his satisfaction, she left to prepare the younger orphans for bed.

Though the bed was comfortable, however, Anderson did not sleep easily. The near-battle with Alucard had put him on edge and the emerging problem of Millennium made him restless. Even his slumber did not afford him rest. Rather it was filled with strange and weird images that led him to wonder whether he were waking or sleeping; and if sleeping, whether the images were merely the jumbled excess of a teeming mind that had seen too much, or if they told the truth of either the past or a time to come.

OOO

_He was in a tank; at least he assumed it was a tank for he was submerged in some manner of slimy liquid. He could barely see out, clouded as the material was and wavy as it made his surroundings look, but he was almost certain that there was glass in front of him. He tried to reach out to touch it but his hands didn't seem to want to obey. _

_Shapes moved beyond the circumference of the tank – tall, dark forms that he could not distinguish. Everything was muffled and he was only distantly aware that he was breathing and that there were tubes all around him, running in various directions. _

_He tried to force his body to stir; and when he did, he ached down to his bones, feeling as though his very skeleton was on fire. Then came the sensation of his skin splitting apart before all went finally and mercifully dark. _

OOO

And that is it for this chapter; more on Kurt, Heinkel and Yumiko next chapter.

CC: Deacon LeBeau is, of course, Remy LeBeau – also known as Gambit. For those unfamiliar with the character, he hails from Louisiana (thus the Cajun accent – though I write it poorly) and has kinetic powers. Essentially he can charge up objects and use them as exploding projectiles, with playing cards being his favorite method of doing so. He's also skilled in various forms of combat, particularly with a bo. It is the card throwing, however, that will have connections with a certain other character and provide for some action in coming chapters.


	12. All Fired Up

As promised, a little more Kurt, Yumiko and company along with a bit more about Wanda and Pietro.

OOO

Kurt had, of course, learned Italian while he was living in the orphanage; and English was a matter of course since it was so necessary to communicate with those Hellsings and their ilk, not to mention tourist who were always crowding the streets of Rome. However, he always had - and suspected that he always would - feel most comfortable conversing in German.

Which was what made Heinkel such a blessing.

Whenever he was stressed out, she seemed to sense it and would always ask how he was in German. It made it so much easier for him, he reflected, to be able to vent his concerns in his mother tongue. Not that she was the perfect listener; her violent devotion and enjoyment of bloodshed greatly exceeded his. He would rather get the job done in any way possible, including diplomatic means, whereas she and Yumiko seemed to thrill in going out of their way to cause extra havoc. She didn't always understand his reluctance; he didn't always relish the fight in the way that she did.

Nevertheless, Yumie observed one day, they got on quite well for having such different dispositions.

She supposed that it was due to the language.

OOO

Frank Castle had his single bag packed; he did not intend the trip to be a long one, just long enough to complete his business and have done with it. Fr. Murdock was accompanying him out to the launch pad merely as a matter of course and not one of necessity. Though he'd be loathe to admit it, Castle rather enjoyed the company.

"So I see you're sending the 'bad accent brigade' down to South America," he muttered. "Are you sure they can handle the problem? Are you sure they'll be enough?"

"I'll be waiting in the wings, as will a few others if they should be insufficient," Matthew replied, adjusting his collar. "However, I have the greatest confidence in them. After all," he said, his lips quirking into a smile, "they have at least a case each of fresh packs of playings cards and Zippos. Besides, don't you have your own issues to be worried about?"

"She'll accept it, one way or another."

"Castle... you'd better not force anything."

"Trust me, chief - I won't have to."

"See that you remember that."

"Any other news before I go?"

Murdock shrugged.

"Stephen had bad news - not that we weren't expecting it. The page is blank now, so there will be no using the Montesi, which means we'll have to deal with everything the old fashioned way: personal take-downs as opposed to the convenience of the formula. Given how well it's worked in the past, though, I would have been reluctant to rely on it regardless."

"And what about the government? Have you been in contact with them? Alex said that there were several high level infiltrators."

"I have been - though perhaps I shouldn't have. They allegedly have their best agents on the job; but they were unusually interested in somebody, possibly one of ours, when I was giving them background information."

"What?" Castle paused at the door to the aircraft. "Who were they interested in?"

"I can't say for sure, though I'm sure it bodes no good. All I know is that our contact with the government was flipping through the background file on Hellsing and the European Iscariot when he said 'that's where he went,' as though he were surprised and angry."

"And he wouldn't say who 'he' was?"

"He shrugged it off, but his heart rate spoke something else. He was definitely interested in somebody in that file; the trouble is, even though it's a comparatively thin folder, it covers quite a span of time and amount of participants."

Frank nodded.

"I'm with you," he growled after a moment. "I don't like the sound of that at all. But there's nothing we can do about it for now; we're not in charge of them and our influence doesn't extend that far."

"I'm afraid not; anyway, you'd best get going. If I hear more, I'll let you know."

"Later, then."

Castle climbed into the plane and departed as Murdock made his way back to the building; things were afoot and the situation was accelerating faster than he'd ever imagined.

OOO

Pietro's heart began beating at a rate so accelerated that Maxwell could barely distinguish one beat from the next; it was all a blur of thumping when he laid his hand on the boy's chest. Then, the child's eyes snapped open without warning and he sat up so quickly Maxwell couldn't see it happen.

"What do you want?" Pietro demanded.

"What?" Maxwell asked, confused.

"What do you want?" He grinned from ear to ear. "Anything. Anything in the world and I can get it for you and be back before you know it; I can feel it! Pizza from Chicago? Done. Seafood from California? Can do. Chocolate from Switzerland? Alcohol from Russia? Tea from China? Name it and I can fetch it!"

Maxwell paused; it was not, perhaps, the best use of the boy's talents; and given that he had just been nearly comatose and feverish, putting him through his paces so soon seemed a bit foolhardy. However, Pietro was insistent. And really, what could a test run hurt?

"Very well." He took a pen and tablet off of a nearby table and wrote an address down. "Here. A bread shop in Paris. I love their French bread so if you could..."

Pietro grabbed the paper and was back with the loaf in a little over three minutes.

"Now ask for something hard," he said with a grin, exalting in the success of the experiment. "Just think, Father - this is just the first day, the first injection! I can train, we can do more! So much more!" He grabbed Enrico and shook him, breathless with excitement.

Maxwell's response was to smile and clap his hands.

"Bravo, Pietro. Bravo. Did I not tell you that devotion would be rewarded?"

OOO

Wanda flopped down on her bed and put headphones over her ears, trying to drown out her thoughts. As she leaned her head against the pillow, the music picked up when she pressed play, and her thoughts drifted back to her recent training and the circumstances that were developing around all of them.

_ I've been changed, yes really changed._

She was getting better with her powers, she could tell. And yet the only thrill she got from using them was when Father Anderson praised her; he looked at her sadly when they trained but even with that burden he could glory in her successes. And when he was happy, then, she reflected, so was she.

She didn't want to die; she didn't want to go to Hell - she didn't want that for any of them, not even for Maxwell! But she would risk it because if she didn't, as Pietro said, she couldn't be there. She wouldn't be with him when he needed her and that would be worse than anything.

Her finger slid the volume wheel up just slightly.

_ I wouldn't want to know. He scares me so. I wan..._

Her stomach lurched and she smashed down the 'skip' button; the player clicked forward to the next song and the pleading voice of Murray Head came through, explaining his intentions and praying not to be damned.

But maybe that was unavoidable, she reflected, something that happens when you blindly try to save the people you care for.

OOO

Somewhere in the back of his mind, the desk attendant knew that they didn't have reservations; but the eyes of the brunette - were they glowing? It seemed as if they were glowing - invited him to trust their words. He gave them the key and they nodded then went upstairs; the other was drawing near.

As it turned out, the attendant's mind was going to get quite a working over that day.

OOO

Yumie's day had been full of unexpecteds: she hadn't expected Frank Castle to show up again, least of all unannounced. She hadn't expected him to ask to go to lunch with her, and her alone, out of all the Iscariots. Perhaps she _had _expected - or was it Yumiko who had? - that she would feel the way she did when he was dining with her. But that didn't mean it wasn't surprising - a rare moment in which she couldn't tell whose feelings were whose, or what, for certain, it was that she even felt.

Least expected of all, however, was the kiss she found herself being drawn into. As unexpected as it was, however, she found that it wasn't unwelcome; or at least it wasn't for one of them. Their kiss was awkward at first, but became much less so after he removed the glasses to bring her closer to his face and release the one that he really wanted to find. Iscariots played fast and loose with rules anyway; and it was, after all, only a kiss. Yumiko grinned; Yumie could confess later.

And as they came together, his tongue slid into her mouth and seemed to strangely elongate; there was a feeling of being filled that quickly passed and when they drew apart Yumiko knew much more had happened than a simple lip-lock.

"What did you..."

"You will be safe," he told her solemnly. "In your hour of greatest need, you will have all the protection I can offer. Take care of our child; though I've no doubt you will. You are quite suitable."

She did not fully understand; but Yumiko could sense a kindred spirit and nodded in trust. Frank replaced the glasses on her nose and Yumie emerged when he did, blushing furiously.

"I must go now," he said. "We've much to do on our side of the pond. But remember what I said to you; and don't be afraid to embrace him when he manifests."

Confused and a bit frightened at what Yumiko had gotten them into, Yumie ran back to her quarters and sat on the bed, debating whether or not she ought to tell Heinkel.

When Heinkel returned, it was with Kurt; both had clearly had a few beers and were going into the kitchen for tea. Yumie saw them and decided not to bother; perhaps there were things they were all better off being in the dark about.

OOO

CC: For those unfamiliar with Pietro's back story, the child that the Millennium members are remembering is his father, Magneto, who was canonically in a concentration camp when he was younger. This event contributed greatly to Magneto's distrust and dislike of humanity. The image of the twisted fence comes from the X-Men movie series and the raid by Captain America from Evolution.

CC2: The 'Montesi' mentioned in this chapter is the Montesi formula, a spell in a book called the Darkhold that in the Marvel universe is designed to rid the world of vampires (including Dracula). It does, but as usual, a loophole is eventually found and vampires return to Marvel's earth. The spell was later wiped from the Darkhold.

And for those of you astute enough to recognize the lyrics ever-so-briefly used in this chapter, yes, they do offer a fairly blatant hint.


	13. Dissident Aggressors

OOO

Alucard, disguised as a Mr. Brenner, signed the guest registry right below a 'Mr. M. MacManus' as he checked into the hotel, cool as ice, not worried for a moment even when the attendant tried to question the coffin. The mercenary was somewhat freaked out, but the vampire shrugged it off. Perhaps things were going too well, but he wasn't about to let anybody else know if he was worried.

Besides - the air smelled of death and battle and that was always a thrill.

OOO

"He's in," Remy said softly, lifting his head suddenly from the cards he was shuffling. "So now what?"

"You know what, mate" St. John replied, flipping the cap to his lighter up and down. "Same thing we do every time. Prep and follow Matthew's orders. All we're supposed tah do is prevent them from killin' the men or the bystanders. Those were our orders. We don't go after either vampire. We're not even suppos'd t' go after the men who are behind it, though I think Matt might let that slide."

"Does dat Maxwell creature know 'bout all dis?"

"Hell no," he laughed, allowing the lighter to ignite and let the flame spike upwards. "He might find out after but we're not saying anythin' before hand. Matt didn't say much but what he did say makes me think the Europeans have a few screws loose. _Real _loose. As in, I could live, die, never meet Anderson an' be very satisfied with that situation."

"Dat bad?"

"I hope never to find out."

"I'm sho' we're gonna before all dis is over," Remy grumbled. "Lighter?"

"Here," he tossed him the lighter he'd been playing with, then shortly produced another from the folds of his cloak. "Oh - and I saw how you signed that guest book. _Nice_."

"Our little joke, mon ami, no?" Remy grinned as he lit up then offered one to St. John.

"No thanks. Not right now. There'll be enough smoke later on. And as for this situation, well... nothing to be done about it," Allerdyce shrugged. "I'm going down for a drink. You want t' come with?"

"Nah, I ain't as prepared as you are. I gotta get ready fo' tonight," he said, puffing smoke out with a grin.

"Suit yourself," he said with a shrug.

OOO

Pietro was settling himself on the table, readying himself for another treatment, when he heard Maxwell gasp.

"Father?" His voice cracked with uncertainty. "Father, are you OK?"

"I'm fine, Pietro," he said, turning around with the syringe in hand and sucking on his forefinger. "I just pricked my finger, that's all. Nothing to worry about. Here, let me see your arm."

The speedster held it out willingly and when the complete dose had been injected into his veins he shuddered and leaned against Maxwell. For the first few minutes he sweat profusely, but soon the reaction began to die down. He wasn't even passing out anymore and the speeds he was reaching thrilled even him.

"Are you all right now?" Maxwell asked after his body seemed to stop.

"I think so," he nodded, jumping down off the table.

"Good. Because I have a bit of a job for you."

"Anything you need, Father."

"Do you think you can cross the Atlantic without getting into trouble?"

"Heh. Is His Holiness Catholic?"

"Exactly what I wanted to hear."

OOO

Pip was embarrassed when the man caught him staring at his hand and nearly spilled his drink when the man addressed him.

"It means 'Truth' in Latin," the man said before draining his glass.

"What?" Pip looked up, startled that the man had replied - and replied in French, even if it was mangled by what seemed to be an Australian accent.

"My hand. You were starin' at it. And I'm tellin' you - it means Truth," he said as he extended a bill over to tip the bar tender.

"Oh."

The red-headed man stood and gave Pip a wink.

"I'll see you later."

OOO

Stephen Strange opened his eyes from the vision and considered it; it had been uncharacteristically vague. _Three demons will be needed to seal one._ That was what he had heard, and besides a glimpse he had caught of a figure in red, that was all.

Frowning, he lowered himself to the ground from his levitation and stood, then went to get a cup of tea. Evil was afoot; not that it wasn't always afoot, because it was, and he with the knowledge he had knew this more than most. But this seemed worse somehow. More than standard megalomaniac acts, more than run-of-the-mill violence, more than even many supernatural threats.

This was not a storm to be weathered; this was a whirlpool that, unless resisted or averted, might swallow everything whole like the monstrous Charybdis. He did not, however, know how to avoid it; nor even if it could be avoided, at this late hour.

That thought more than any other made the sorcerer's heart grow cold.

OOO

"It's almost time," Remy said looking into the hallway. "Shall we git into position den?"

"Let's pray first," St. John suggested with a wry smile.

They each crossed themselves.

"_And Shepherds we shall be for thee, my Lord, for thee,_" Remy spoke as he bent on one knee, placing a deck of cards in front of him as his eyes lit up.

"_Power hath descended forth from Thy hand; our feet may swiftly carry out Thy commands_," Allerdyce continued as he faced Remy and mimicked his actions with a lighter.

"_So we shall flow a river forth to Thee..._" Remy sprinkled holy water over the two items.

"_And teeming with souls shall it ever be_," Allerdyce used a second lighter to burn incense and puffed the smoke over them.

"_In nomine Patri_..." Remy spoke as he made a sign of the cross over the cards and lighter.

"_Et Fili_..." Allerdyce made a cross as well.

"_Et Spiritus Sancti_," they chanted in unison, crossed themselves, picked the objects back up and then stood.

Allerdyce spoke first.

"We are so makin' Lorna watch that when we get back."

Remy laughed.

"Let's go, mon ami. We wouldn't wan' to be late to de party."

OOO

The bed creaked beneath Anderson as he watched the scene in Brazil unfolding. It barely registered when Wanda came in, telling him that dinner was about to be served.

He told her that he would be down soon, but didn't take his eyes off of the television. Then she surprised him.

"Father? Might I watch with you?"

His eyes widened for a moment, then he moved over and smiled.

"Coom, lass, an' yeh'll see wha' a real moonster can dooh."

She sat beside him, watching intently, her heart beating inside of her chest so loud she thought he must have heard it.

"Show me Hell, yeh freaks..." Anderson growled beside her.

Hell. What hell would be like. She wondered...

OOO

"Fuck! We're too late!" Allerdyce growled, adjusting the device connected to his ear.

"What?" Remy looked at him through the darkness.

"They sent in a group already. He ate most of them then... yeah."

"Might be good, act'ally. Dat gives us a reason. He made de first move, so we kin act wit'out concern. And now dey know what he can do. So what happens after? Where're we at?"

"According to HQ, a transmission went through afta t' his master. Prob'ly gettin' orders from 'er. He's coming out into the hall now... get ready..."

Alucard lifted his gun to shoot at the men when, from around a corner at the end of the hall, a card sizzling with energy flew at the gen and hit it, causing an explosion. Then the hall was filled with a storm of fire that came raging, out of nowhere, across the walls and through the air. The heat was scorching but, Alucard noted, it seemed to surround only him; the men weren't getting burnt much, not nearly what they should have been.

"RUN!"

A path opened up through the flames near the men and as Alucard lifted to fire a second card came. He began to run in the direction it was coming from when a sudden billow of smoke hit in him the face and filled his vision for a moment.

"He's a fucking monster you idiots, get the hell out of here!"

The smoke smelt of myrrh and spices and burnt his lungs, refusing to clear though it should have. Incense, he thought in a rage. Fucking Vatican!

The fire raged brighter around him and more smoke poured forth. Every time he lifted his gun, the cards came and and growled in frustration. Finally, he rushed forward and caught sight of a man with glowing eyes and another with a thurible, each dressed in identical black Roman cassocks and wearing large rosaries with thick crosses around their necks.

He lifted his gun to shoot them when the eyes of the one man grew briefly brighter and the wall behind him exploded. He shook off the rubble in seconds but the men were gone by then, so Alucard made for the elevator, only to find a wall of flame and smoke in his way. There was a 'ding' as the door closed but the two agents were still there and he aimed for them.

Then the ground beneath him gave way in another explosion and his shot went wild, failing to hit either of them. Remy through a card through a nearby window and they ran to it.

"Get the rope," Allerydice said with a grin. "If we hurry, we'll get down there before he does.

OOO

"This was... unexpected..." The major mused.

"Did that boy send them?" The Doc asked.

"I doubt it. And if he didn't, that means there are more players whom we should be watching. Interesting..."

OOO

"Get Maxwell on the phone!" Integra screamed at Walter. "Now! That snake has some explaining to do!"

"Are you entirely sure it was him, my lord? It hardly seems like the sort of way in which his agents behave."

"They're Catholic; that makes them his! And I gave an order so don't delay!"

"Of course, sir."

OOO

The salt water that just barely splashed his feet was cool and the sky above him seemed endless. He was communicating with Rome so that he knew which direction to go, but apart from that he was alone in the midst of a vast expanse of blue.

And it felt wonderful, like he could run forever.

OOO

CC: The 'crazy geneticist' Frank talks about in Chapter 11 is an off-screen cameo of Michael Morbius, the Living Vampire, a character tied into Spiderman normally, though sometimes dealing with Blade and others.

CC2: The Samaritan reference from that same chapter to a one-off mention of the Dark Horse comic Hellboy; thats the gun he uses that come with bullets known as Creature Killers. While no Hellboy characters will appear, the gun might show up again.

CC3: St. John Allerdyce, an Australian with fire powers, makes his first on-screen appearance; he is Pyro in the Marvel continuity and is tenuously suggested to be a lapsed Catholic. In this continuity, he was lapsed and joined Magneto's brotherhood when he was younger but was found by Murdock and drawn away.

CC4: A note on Remy/Gambit's powers in this fiction: like many of the characters, he has an alternate background. Before Mr. Sinister operated on Remy, he could charge things by looking at them, not just touching them - which, of course, led to a lot of unintentional, out of control explosion incidents. Here, it was Section XIII who got to him first and worked on him; they did not remove this ability or reduce his power, however, but instead helped him to control it.

And yes, Remy and St. John are particularly big fans of a certain 'violent Irish Catholics' movie; I know Hellsing takes place in 1999, a few months too early, but we'll just say Iscariot got a special sneak preview. ;) Seems like it would be right up their alley.


	14. Burnin' Up

OOO

Father Matthew Murdock sat in the eternal darkness of his office, allowing the phones to ring. Two of the four uppermost lights were lit but he did not make a move to answer and listen to those who were impatiently waiting on the other ends of the lines. Instead, he sat in the pitch black room, allowing his senses to detect even the minutest changes in sound. The buzz of life swirled around him, even in the ostensible silence of the building, and he smiled, finally relaxed.

At ease, he finally turned his attention towards the incessant phone. His fingers brushed the braille-inscribed buttons and he hovered over them, considering which one to push first, if in fact he decided to listen to either. After a long moment's consideration, he hit the second button.

"Hello," he began in a voice just a shade on the side of cheerful. No matter what manner of tongue lashing there was in store for him, there was never an excuse not to be civil.

"Director Murdock!" A furious English female snapped on the other end of the line. "I must demand that you remove your men at once!"

"I'm afraid that's out of my hands, Sir Integra," he responded calmly. "Besides, they are not interfering with your orders are they?"

"Of course they are! With them around, Alucard cannot do his job so I demand you recall them immediately."

"Alucard cannot do his job?" Maxwell allowed amusement to seep into his voice. "And pray tell, what is his job?"

"That's classified information and you know it," Integra growled, impatient at his unflappability; Maxwell was infinitely easier to deal with - at least she could get a rise out of him. "But I think you can guess."

"I suppose I can; it is an admirable distinction between our organizations, is it not? Your order, I assume - and do, my lord, correct me if I am wrong - was for Alucard to kill. Kill the enemy, kill the attackers, kill, kill, _kill_." There was silence on the other end of the line. "It is not altogether unlike our European counterparts and their credo. Maxwell would do anything to advance the church's power and, by proxy, his own. Absolute orders given to unquestioning, obedient subordinates who dutifully fulfill them.

"Here however, Sir Integra, I must tell you that we follow a different set of commands. Our goal is not to kill the monster; our goal is to defend humans and particularly the innocent. And we would choose to do this whether or not we were ordered to, Sir Integra.

"Which, you must realize, thus becomes the source of your problem. My men are there not because I demanded they go. Oh, I certainly suggested direction. Do not mistake me. But in the end they are there of their own volition and would not leave now even if I demanded it. They are not dogs to be brought to heel, Sir Integra. They are my _men_."

Silence settled between them until Integra finally broke it.

"So that's how it is to be between us," she replied.

"Yes."

"And I am guessing that your interference will continue?"

"As long as your actions willfully endanger bystanders, then yes."

"You are aware, Fr. Murdock, of how difficult this decision was to make for me? I do not take such things lightly and certainly do not look to cause civilian casualties."

"I do not presume to know your mind, Sir Integra. I only know what effects your actions produce and what we must do accordingly."

She fell silent and a moment later he heard the distinctive 'click' of a phone being placed down. He replaced his as well and dismissed the final call; Maxwell could wait until Murdock called him.

"Castle?" Frank looked up from the paperwork he was doing. "I'm feeling tense - I think I should like a workout, if you would oblige me."

"Of course sir. I'll have the training room cleared and prepped."

OOO

Integra looked at Walter with a bemused expression.

"To be honest, I don't know whether I should be infuriated or relieved," she told him and left it at that.

OOO

"Keep your focus!" Allerdyce screamed at Remy. They had gotten down moments before Alucard had stalked out; the vampire had tried to plant stakes with impaled bodies on them but Remy had exploded both the stakes and the bodies the minute they'd been thrown out. He had blasted a circumference of dirt away around the Hellsing vampire and his undead opponent and the two Iscariot agents were maintaining a barrier of fire and incense smoke, obscuring the fight from view and blasting with kinetic energy or sheer flames anything that escaped the circle and threatened bystanders.

"Ah'm tryin'!" Remy screamed at him, dashing around, his eyes glowing as he caused a bullet to explode. With a flick, he tossed cards to meet those of Alhambra. "An' I can't b'lieve dat dis punk stole my trademark!"

"Shit! They're on the side of the building! Remy - take the windows."

A shower of glass rained down on the vampires, distracting them with cuts that while easily healed still diverted attention. Then the wall beneath them exploded, sending the two hurtling back down to eart."

"And you lot - GET THE BLOODY HELL OUT YOU BLOOMIN' DAFT LOONIES!" Allerdyce screamed at the crowd. "Remy! That vampire girl - get her out. We need to take the supports. This thing needs to come down. If they fight up again there they could move this altercation over the crowd and we're going to have casualties."

Remy rushed over to where part of the building had been demolished and Seras was crouching with her massive firearm. He stood next to her and she stared up at him dumbly. Then he knelt and touched the gun, sending a crackle of kinetic energy through it.

"Fire at him," he directed her.

She did, and when the bullet emerged it fizzled with Remy's characteristic energy.

"We need to leave, _cheri_" he told her.

"What?"

"We need to leave. Dis building is gonna come down."

"Oh." She hefted the gun and scrambled out of the way.

Turning back around, Remy resumed his visual ignition of any stray projectiles. His fatigue was becoming evident, however. Allerdyce turned on his partner with a frown.

"I need to go take care of the other thing - can ya handle things here?"

"Yeah," Remy nodded. "Most o' de bystanders ran anyway."

"Then I'll see you soon," he murmured.

OOO

Try as she might to decipher what Fr. Anderson was thinking, the expression on his face was unreadable even to Wanda. She turned her attention back to the television where live footage had stopped; now there was only intermittant description being given and old clips being replayed. It seemed that two others had joined the fray, and from Anderson's growl of 'Murdock,' Wanda realized that they must be American Iscariots.

Privately, she was glad. She hated it when people suffered and died, and these two seemed to be concerned with that as well. They left the vampire up to Alucard but instead focused on making sure that people got out alive and relatively unscathed. It gave her hope that perhaps she could serve a similar function within their sister branch of the organization.

Yes, they were called upon to descend into hell; but perhaps some of them could pull the others back up.

OOO

As Pip started to fire on the men in the room, he heard a sound from over his shoulder, like a soft 'flick.' He had barely turned his head when a stream of flame rushed into the room, immolating those who were inside as well as anything else in the vicinity.

"Told ya I'd see you again, mate," St. John replied with a smile.

Pip tossed the bomb into the room, not that it was necessary but for purposes of disposal, and the two parted ways. The conflagration was spreading and Pip needed to make it to the helicopter. Allerdyce, however, was content to stroll out casually and used the lighter to send flames jutting up the side of the storied building, gradually creating an inferno that would be hot enough to cause the steel inside to sag and ooze.

OOO

Pietro's body jolted just slightly as he ended up on dry land again, his feet churning up dust as he went. He nodded at the directions he was being given and adjusted his course to the right.

It wouldn't be long now.

OOO

"Jesus! Did he _eat _that vampire? I think I'm gonna be ill!"

The last of the building collapsed and St. John cut the fire down to smoldering embers.

"No time to worry 'bout dat now," Remy grumbled. "Everybody's gone and we're done here." He nodded to Seras as the sounds of the chopper drew near.

She turned and ran towards it, then looked back once and gave them a nod. The Hellsings flew off while the Iscariots began strolling casually down the street. Moments later a blur pulled up beside them and then came to stop in their path. Pietro took a set of keys out of a pouch and tossed them to Remy.

"Here. One's for a car that's parked two streets over. It's a black sedan. The other is for a hotel room in the next town. The name of the place is on the key chain and the room number is on the key."

"You comin' with?" Allerdyce asked.

"Not right now. I might join you tonight. For now, though, I have my own assignments to do."

With that he was off again in a flurry. The two agents turned towards one another.

"You thinkin' what I'm thinkin'?"

Remy nodded.

"Dat chile looks jus' like Lorna."

"Yeah. Weird." He shook his head. "Anyway. Shall we get going before reports and the like reconverge?"

The cajun man nodded in agreement and they made their way to the car.

OOO

Kurt wiped the blood off of his blades and onto the carpet with a look of distaste on his face. Next to him Heinkel gave a nod of approval; they were of a like mind in believing that traitors did not deserve to live. Each and every one of the men who'd been tempted by the promises of monsters would die by their hands. Perhaps it was simply Heinkel's dogged enthusiasm rubbing off on him, but he found himself feeling vindicated in and even enjoying the task. It was a cathartic feeling, like cutting out a tumor with his bare hands.

Looking down upon the carnage, Maxwell felt a tremor throughout his body at the sight of the priests' blood. His veins felt like they were molten and the burning sensation emanated forth from his heart reaching even the tips of his fingers. Exterminating their enemies, destroying evil - that's what they were created for. There was a dull pounding in his ears. Suddenly, he wished to touch the blood and knelt down...

"Boss?" Heinkel's voice called him back to himself. "What do we do now?"

Slightly embarrassed, Maxwell straightened up and looked at the Iscariots surrounding him. "We wait for Pietro to return with news," he instructed.

"Amen," voices chorused as they left the room.

OOO

A figure watching a massive screen turned the footage of the Brazilian incident off. So that was the beast that Integra Hellsing commanded; and commanded so well, apparently. If there were anyone, anywhere who might be worthy of him... she was a distinct possibility.

He would have to see when he eventually attacked. War was coming and he smiled beneath his steel trappings, imagining the opportunity it would give him to strike when all others were weakened.

Outside his castle, the cold Latvarian winds wrapped themselves around the battlements, their moans covering up the echoes of his laughter.

OOO

CC: Not really comics references, but pop culture ones: Remy and St. John persistently refer to "The Boondock Saints" in chapter 13 and Wanda in chapter 12 is listening to "I Don't Know How to Love Him" from Jesus Christ, Superstar.


	15. Blood Stained

OOO

At first Seras didn't notice the sound; the only clue that there was something amiss was the sudden change of expression in her master's face. Then her heightened vampiric senses kicked in and she heard it as well, as far off rushing heading for them, the faint sounds of the footsteps of something very, _very_ fast.

A breath later and the door was thrown open, revealing Pietro in full regalia. Terrified of the Vatican harbinger, Seras backed away from him and hid behind her master. Alucard, however, was practically frothing at the mouth. Here was the boy who had so disgraced his master, and neither Anderson nor any other Iscariots were in sight to shield the child from his wrath.

He began to chuckle; but Pietro, with a crazed grin of his own, whipped the volge that had been strapped to his back off and swung it around with an easy motion that made the weapon a silver blur. Seras winced, sensing the holiness of the weapon even from where she was. Pietro chuckled himself and Alucard, while continuing to smile, tensed.

The boy was faster than before, that much he could tell. Fast enough to make it difficult for even his eyesight, proficient even against that fool Valentine, to keep up with its movements. Nevertheless, the vampire took a few confident steps forward while Pietro waited as he came closer and closer and closer.

He was less than a yard away when Pietro sprang into action, moving as a whirlwind and slicing the vampire's limbs off easily before reappearing on the other side of the room, all in the space of less than a fraction of a second. Alucard's arms hadn't even fallen to the floor when Pietro was turning around and looking at him.

"Satisfied, Monster?" He smirked. "But that's not what I came here for."

Alucard gritted his teeth and reformed his limbs, the fallen pieces pooling into darkness then being reabsorbed by his body.

"You little, insolent brat," he murmured. "You have no idea what you're dealing with. They shouldn't send children on missions for men."

"I'm neither child nor man," he responded. "I am a servant who does his duty."

Then he began to run, so quickly that Seras and Pip couldn't see him at all, finding the guns they had drawn quickly cleaved in two, and Alucard only caught snatches of his positions. Out of the blurry whirlwind came the sound of Pietro's voice, distorted due to his constant motion.

"An airport is nearby," he told them. "Three miles to the north. One of ours. There's a jet there that you may take and use to get out of the country." Papers flew out of air, tossed about by the force of the wind Pietro was creating with his constant running. "There are the papers you will need. Take them and show them to the pilot."

The door was suddenly thrown open and, just like that, Pietro vanished, leaving behind only a rush of wind in his wake. Alucard glowered at the empty door, as if staring at it hard enough could bring the boy back to give him another chance, while Pip and Seras ran around gathering up the papers he had thrown at them.

Meanwhile, Pietro sprinted back to the hotel where the two American agents were staying. Bursting in breathlessly, he grinned at them and gave them a thumbs up. St. John merely nodded, while Remy frowned.

"Your weapon is dirty," he remarked.

Pietro shrugged indifferently. "I got into a bit of a scrape with the vampire."

"Dat risk was unnecessary," Remy chided.

"But I enjoyed it," Pietro grinned. "This alone, in my opinion, justifies it."

Remy sighed; already the boy was living up to his rumored reputation as intractable and careless. His attitude, even in that brief comment, made it clear that he didn't intend on taking advice from them. But no matter; he wasn't a member of their branch so he was Maxwell's headache, not Matthew's.

"Will you be stayin' th' night, den?"

"Yes," Pietro yawned. "I'm beat. No way am I crossing the Atlantic again without getting some shuteye first."

"Take that bed den," Remy pointed towards the single. "An' I'll bunk wit' St. John."

"Damn it," St. John groaned. "Can't we getta cot for the little blighter?" He glared at Remy. "You snore. And steal the covers."

"Deal wit' it!" Remy glared at him and his eyes glowed a vibrant pink.

"Ya wanna play that game?" Allerdyce retorted. "I'll set your sheets on fire – how 'bout that?"

"Jes' go tah bed!" Remy huffed.

Pietro, by that time, had already stretched out and fallen fast asleep without even sliding under the blankets, completely exhausted from his rushing about during the day.

He had another long run ahead of him on the morrow, but at least it would be coming home to a hopefully pleased Maxwell rather than running towards people he didn't care to know and a vampire he loathed with all his being.

OOO

Maxwell had been disappointed when Pietro had called him; he was hoping that the boy would be back that day. It was no matter, though; Pietro would still be back to give Maxwell a briefing before Maxwell went on his trip to England, along with Heinkel, Yumie and Kurt.

The meeting made him slightly uneasy; after all, it was to be on English ground, so he was sure there would be attempted slights and a devaluing of their strength. The abomination that the Hellsings kept would probably be there too, much to his dissatisfaction. However, even the worry of the meeting did not justify the nervousness he felt.

Something was… something was… what? Wrong? He knew that already; he knew from the first stirrings that Millennium had made that something was out of place in the world. Who knew how deeply they had infiltrated, how far he and the other untainted ones would have to go to dig them out? But that wasn't it, it was something else.

His dreams were terrible, but he couldn't remember any of them when he woke. They were a wash of red and black, fire and light. Waking up from his nightmares, he always felt like he couldn't breathe and would gasp for air like a fish for a few hideous moments.

And now he was doing it again, writing in his bed and getting up and pacing, always with the sense that there was somewhere he ought to be going and something he ought to be doing. Something calling him…

He groaned, got up, and poured himself a glass of port to steady his nerves. As he drank the wine, he inhaled deeply and caught a scent that he recognized immediately.

Blood. He could smell blood.

Frantically, he looked around in the room, then out in the hallway. Nobody was out there and there were no sounds as if there had been an attack. Using a panel in his room, he checked the security of the compound; there were no indications that it had been breached. Yet he could still smell it, as clearly as if he were standing in a pool of blood.

Thinking back, he remembered with sudden terror the mesmerizing effect that the dead men had on him earlier the previous day. Could he have be bitten at some point, he wondered in terror? Was he turning into a vampire somehow? Did that explain his sudden fascination?

It couldn't be, he reasoned. He would have remembered being accosted. He wasn't reacting adversely to anything else that seemed to harm vampires, especially new ones. There weren't any other indications. And yet… yet…

He clutched his heart; it felt as though it were being stabbed by a burning dagger. Frustrated and confused, he threw himself into bed and forced his eyes shut.

It would go away in the morning; it _had_ to. Because it was driving him crazy and he simply did not know what to do.

OOO

When they went to the meeting the following day, Kurt kept his face as impassive as possible, even though his arm was throbbing, particularly at the spot where he'd been injected. He wasn't sure he wanted Heinkel and Yumie to know just yet, and he certainly didn't want Father Anderson to know, so he didn't mentioned it. He suspected the knowledge would out soon enough whether or not he said anything.

Sure enough, a moment came that very afternoon. Despite all of their attempts at ensuring security, somehow a messenger from the Millennium organization managed to make his way in, a child no less – or at least what appeared to be a child. Kurt knew better than perhaps anybody else in the room how appearances could deceive.

When he showed up, the already tense atmosphere in the room nearly reached a breaking point. The others listened to the message unfold with varying degrees of disgust. Kurt, however, watched the boy intently, wondering if his abilities to suddenly appear were in anyway linked with his own. There hadn't been any sulfur and he was more cat-like than demonic, but Kurt couldn't help but wonder. While the rest were focused on the small panel the creature had brought, listening to that Major person ramble on, Kurt edged closer to him, through the shadows.

He waited patiently for the right moment; then, when the vampires trained their guns on him, Kurt's tail snaked out suddenly and caught the boy around the ankle. The transported in a flash; however, instead of simply moving through the dimension that Kurt normally did in an instant, he slowed himself down. They were sailing through the air, the boy connected only by the tail wrapped around his ankle, and sulfurous rocks and pools of lava lay beneath them.

Kurt perched on a rock, swung his tail down so that half of the boy's body was submerged in lava, then continued the rest of the way through the dimension back to another part of the room.

He tossed the charred corpse onto the table where the remnants of the lava burnt through the table itself and nearly splashed a few of the delegates, nearly all of whom recoiled in horror.

"It is not such a clever trick," he intoned.

Even then he could feel the eyes of the two nuns upon him; he knew that they knew. There was no other explanation for it, his sudden control of where and how fast he transported.

The meeting broke up not long after with the English monarch issuing orders that none of their delegation cared about. Information was exchanged, but apart from the one incident, not much else occurred. As soon as they were back on the plane, however, Heinkel pulled him aside and roughly pushed the sleeve of his shirt up, snapping the buttons off and revealing a blood-stained piece of gauze on his upper arm.

"You got it, didn't you?" She accused. "The same treatment Pietro got?" He nodded. "Vhy?" She pressed him, letting his arm go but still clearly agitated.

"Ve need every advantage ve can get," he sighed. "It vas vhat I felt I had to do."

For a moment he thought she was going to upbraid him. However, after a pause, she merely nodded, then left to go sit down near Yumie. Kurt sighed and settled into his own seat for the ride. Nothing good lay ahead, that was certain.

OOO

Wanda looked out of her window, down to the streets of Rome below. Father Anderson had left the orphanage, to 'clean up messes' as he called it, and rather than stay there alone she had come to the city to stay with her brother. While they waited for the others to return from the meeting with the English, they had been practicing a little, Pietro much more enthusiastically than she was.

Hearing the door open and shut behind her, Wanda turned to see Pietro standing there with a bundle in his arms.

"I know you haven't had a lot of experience. And I know you're a bit hesitant about all of this. But things seem to be getting rough. And I… well, I got you this." He tossed a package at her; unwrapping it, she found a blood red habit inside. "I asked Father Maxwell about it before he left. You have permission to wear it, as a member of our organization, even though you aren't officially part of any order."

"Thank you," she murmured. "I'll treasure it."

"Wanda… Wanda I know this is hard for you. But it's going to work out, you'll see. We will emerge victorious and it will all be over and everything will be wonderful!"

"Who's 'we'?" She inquired.

Pietro sighed; sometimes his sister could be so impossible.

"Just trust me, OK?"

He left here there. She went back to fretting, he to anticipating the plan Maxwell had laid out for him.

There was blood on the horizon; that much both of them knew. But while Wanda recoiled from it, Pietro welcomed it with open arms.

OOO

CC: The alternate dimension Kurt travels through is mainly based off of the appearance of that dimension in the _X-Men Evolution_ tv series.


End file.
